Seeking Sanity
by Carlough
Summary: Before joining the Decepticons the elite seeker trine had to send their creation away for his own safety. Vorns later, he's part of a glitched gestalt formed by illegal experiments. Seeing the trine outside of battle makes him question his true origins...
1. Prologue

**I'm writing this way against my better judgment, which tells me that I have three stories already that I never update and I shouldn't start a fourth, but I am, so oh well. Updates may be sporadic and far between, but this is my pet right now so I may be paying more attention to it. This is my first TF fic of any kind, ever, so go easy. I watched Armada and Beast Wars when they originally aired, which was years ago, so I'm not very good with remembering them. I have however seen the 2007 movie (I'll get around to RotF eventually, I'm currently pretending that it doesn't exist, along with TF: Animated. They mess with my perceptions of TF, and I like them the way they are.) and I've read a lot of FanFiction and I've decided that I like G1 the best (though I've never seen it), so this will have G1 and '07 movie elements, and possibly parts of other things because I'm not always sure what's from what. I found inspiration in a few stories, so I'll give them their due now so I don't get in trouble later. Ideas came from the fics ****Little Brother**** by **_**Meiza**_**, and ****Replacement**** and ****Welcome to the ****Ark by **_**outerelf**_**. These ideas will all show up eventually, you'll recognize what I mean later...maybe. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer:**** I don't own Transformers, but I do own Blitz.**

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Little servos grabbed desperately at metal plating, trying in vain to stay in the arms of their creator. The seeker trine gazed sadly down at the little mechling, their creation, their reason for being. Large bright green optics stared up at them pleadingly, begging not to be sent away. Skywarp couldn't take it any longer, and he grabbed the sparkling up in a fierce hug.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he whispered in the sparkling's tiny audios. Thundercracker placed a soothing servo on one of Skywarp's wings, rubbing it in a calming motion while the youngest of the trine, Starscream, looked on with tears pooling in his optics.

"You'll be okay," Starscream murmured to the sparkling, which was followed by vehement nods from his trinemates. "You're a seeker, and not only that, but you're _our_ sparkling. You're a fighter; you'll be okay. You'll be okay." He kept repeating the same line, to convince his creation as well as himself.

Vos was unsafe. Rumors of war had been circling for deca-orns, and news had just been sent that indeed armies were being formed on both the Autobot and Decepticon sides, and that the Decepticons were fast approaching Vos. First to come would be the recruiters. They'd find any mechs that were willing and able to join, be it from fear or because they actually believed in the cause. Then, rumor had it, they'd lay waste to the city.

The trine could not have that, not with their sparkling there. To ensure his safety, he was being sent off to Praxus to stay at a neutral compound. This was one of the last ships scheduled to leave the city before the apparent impending attack, so the launch pad was covered with tearful creators and sobbing creations. Their little family was no different.

A small whimper came from the tiny mechling in Skywarp's arms. He leaned back to kiss a little black helm while Starscream gently rubbed the small black wings. A warning call for boarding was called out. They had to hurry their goodbye.

Thundercracker put his hands on his bondmates' shoulders and said solemnly, "It's time." The sparkling began clicking and chirping rapidly in protest, fat tears of energon falling from the adorable green optics.

Skywarp continued stroking the little helm as he cooed, "We love you, with all of our sparks. Don't you ever forget that. We're not going to see you for a while, but we promise that we'll come to get you one orn. Please don't forget us!" Skywarp began sobbing, unable to continue, so Thundercracker had to take over.

"You're probably way too young to remember any of what we're saying," he began as his treacherous mind added, _'Or us'_. "But we promise to come find you, no matter where you are or how long it takes. We'll make sure nothing ever happens to you; we'll stop at nothing to keep you safe."

Starscream took over, saying, "We may even end up against you one orn, but we'll be sure to never hurt you, we love you too much to do that. You could be an Autobot and we could meet you in battle, but as long as we still love you we'd never hurt you. And we'll always love you, forever."

Another warning was called, the last one. With energon tears in their optics, the seeker trine whispered together, "Goodbye, Blitz," before handing him off to an attendant who'd see him through to the neutral compound.

With heavy sparks, they watched as their creation was sent away from them. Skywarp waved until the ship was far out of sight before quickly warping his trinemates and himself to their home; they didn't want to break down in public. It would ruin their chances of getting into the Decepticons.

They'd thought it over and logically, the Decepticons seemed to have a higher chance of winning. While the trine did not exactly agree with the ideals of either faction, they wanted to be on what they believed would be the winning side, for the safety of their sparkling.

That was all they cared about, the safety of their little Blitz. He was everything to them.

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**Well, that was my first try. Hope it's not too bad. Blitz IS NOT Blitzwing!! They're totally different, I made Blitz before I knew that Blitzwing existed (I was very upset to find that a name so close to mine was already in use), and I wanted to keep the name, so I did. Please review!**


	2. All Nightmare Long

**Still no reviews, but that's okay. Not much to say yet, other than I NEVER update this quickly, but oh well, they're usually longer. I'm borrowing _Karategal_'s chart of times. Check out her stories! Here's more!**

**Breem - 8.3 Earth minutes**

**Joor - About 6.5 Earth hours**

**Orn - About 13 Earth day**

**Vorn - About 83 Earth years**

_:: blah ::_**- gestalt link**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Transformers or any of its characters. I do own Blitz, the gestalt, Lightfire, and anyone else that's not canon. Lyrics to "All Nightmare Long" belong to Metallica.**

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_**"Hunt you down without mercy  
Hunt you down all nightmare long"**_

_~ "All Nightmare Long" - Metallica_

_Shadows...dark...they always kept them in the dark, away from everyone, no sound, no sound but the terrible hissing and gurgling of the machines around them..._

"Blitz."

_...No, new sound...the steps, the STEPS! There were coming, coming again, bright light, bright light, too bright brightbrightbright! Light was bad, very bad, light meant loud sounds, too loud for tiny sensitive audios, light meant screaming, light meant pain..._

"Blitz."

_...Whimpering next to him, the littlest sparkling there, hands were reaching for him. No no no! He was too young, too young, they all were. Laughing, bad laughing, scary, laughing meant hurt, hurt was bad. He couldn't help himself; he let out a soft whine of fear. Bad hands reaching for him, reaching reaching grabbing squeezing pain pain pain..._

"Bli-itz."

_...No sounds, can't make sounds, sound means pain, pain is bad, very very bad. Don't cry, don't cry loud voices don't like crying, crying is a sound and sounds are pain..._

"Blitz!"

_...Laughing more laughing voices speaking speaking to him, don't speak back! Speaking is pain. Voice still talking have to listen, listen and pain is less, less pain when he listens. "You little slagger. You think you can get out of here? You're here, _forever_. You're ours, and we'll do with you what we'd like, and we make the rules here, one of them being that you." Squeezes hard hurts "Must" Harder pain fear tears no no tears tears bad tears mean crying crying means pain! "Be" Hurts so bad, so bad, bigger sparkling trying to help him, no, don't try to help! He'll get hurt, too, not allowed to help helping means pain. "QUIET!" Can't breathe can't think hurts so bad so bad can't see everything's blurry sound getting quiet, quiet, face gets hit, bad bad no falling offline when loud voices are there they don't like it. Face hit again, hurts more, keep the tears back, no tears, everything hurts hurts hurts pain so bad. Hit a wall, back with other sparklings in the dark, dark is safe, dark means pain goes away, steps leave, now they're alone, alone is good. Comfort snuggling other sparklings are here they make things better, better, getting sleepy okay to recharge when voices are gone...gone...gone..._

He woke to a heavy weight on his chassis, thankfully kept off of his cockpit enough so that it wasn't painful, though it was annoying as all get out. Onlining his optics slowly, he looked through the dark one-way visor of his full-face mask at the smiling face above him, happy blue optics peering at him.

For once those optics weren't obscured by the usual gray visor that partially obscured most of his face, enough so to hide the jagged scar that bisected it. Then again, Crash only wore his visor in public, never when it was just the four of them, which they referred to as their "family". Crash's relationship with his visor was very different than the one between his mask and himself, i.e., he never took his mask off. Ever, end of story. Not in his quarters, not in recharge, never. It was something that only his family understood.

Not that they were actually family. He remembered his original family, vaguely enough that sometimes he thought that he'd dreamt them. Crash and 'Shade, both being a little older than him, remembered their families better, but only slightly. Sly didn't remember his at all.

"C'mon, Blitzy, rise and shine, let's see those happy optics, aye?" Crash was insufferable in the mornings, always so peppy. Blitz was not a morning person at all, and he verbalized it across their link.

_:: I hate you. ::_ He sent.

_:: Awe, c'mon, ya know ya love me. ::_ Was the reply.

_:: No, I hate you, I really, really do, with my entire spark. ::_

_:: No, you don't, 'cause we are Best Friends Forever And Ever And Ever, more quickly referred to as BFFAEAEs. ::_

Blitz's only reply was to grunt across the link before forcefully bucking his roommate and best friend off of himself and his berth. He sat up slowly, hearing his armor pop as he stretched, removing kinks that he'd acquired during his tense, fretful recharge.

The seeker was used to this by now; he'd been afflicted by horrible nightmares for as long as his memory chips could recall. It was just another thing about him that his gestaltmates understood- then again, they _should_ understand it, considering they were there, and the dreams were more memory than dream. None of the others had night terrors like this, but then again, it was just part of his psychosis, part of him. He was used to it.

_:: Was it the dream again? ::_ Blitz knew he was only asking for the effect and to be polite; Crash as well as the others could just peek into his processor and see everything he'd seen in that dream, but they didn't really need to, as they'd seen it all before. They'd lived it.

_:: What else would it be? :: _He replied with a rueful smile. No one could see it behind his mask, but his family could feel it through their link. Yet another thing that set them apart from "the rest".

Blitz had the ultimate "us and them" mindset. When he met people, his processor automatically set them into one of those two categories- "them" was a lot more populated than "us", considering "us" only consisted of the gestalt. But why did he need anyone else? He didn't communicate with anyone outside of his gestalt, literally.

Blitz hadn't spoken aloud or made any other sound that required the use of his voice capacitor in so many vorns that most mechs (okay, everyone who was a part of "them") thought that he couldn't speak. He could, he just didn't see why it was necessary. He didn't need to communicate with anyone outside of his gestalt, and he could talk to them over their link, so speaking verbally was deemed unnecessary. His gestalt understood his reasons, and they didn't push him to speak, so he appreciated that.

What he didn't appreciate was Crash's insistence that even if he didn't speak, he could still socialize. The only problems with that were the facts that 1) speech was usually needed to socialize and 2) Blitz didn't _want_ to socialize. When he stated this fact, Crash just blamed his anti-social personality on his psychosis, which made sense, considering he'd been diagnosed as sometimes depressed, with slight sociopathic and manic depressive tendencies. But as a glitch among glitches, he was normal AND sane. Quite the combination, considering their location.

That location would be an Autobot base consisting namely of glitches, with a minority of troublemakers and mechs that had driven all of their commanding officers so insane that they needed somewhere to stash them where they couldn't do much harm. What better place than a base of freaks and weirdoes? The only admission price was having either mediocre skills or something clinically wrong with you, whether it was a glitch or a traumatic experience that affected your behavior.

The gestalt was no different when it came to being glitchy, and not just Blitz. Crash was hyperactive and a compulsive liar, though he was truthful with the gestalt, but then again, lying to people who can see into your CPU is kind of futile. He was also a field medic, perhaps not the best occupation for someone in his situation, but he was the best that the base had. That wasn't much of a compliment, considering that he was the _only_ mech on base that was deemed "sane" and "stable" enough to be a medic. He was the only one they had, so that made him the best on the base by default.

Slysight was the youngest of the gestalt, and apparently being a tad bit naive came with the territory, but even that didn't stop him from being a formidable opponent. Sly had a glitch that caused him to have a slew of phobias, as well as trust and abandonment issues, with paranoia as the cherry on top of his psychological sundae. The upside was that many mechs thought he should be a shoe-in for Special Ops: he could move silently and hear others do the same, he could catch projectiles being thrown at his back with no warning, he was a walking lie detector, downright scary when interrogating, and at one point, he was able to accurately calculate how many mechs were in the hallways of the base and their status just by stretching out his sensor net. Most had been walking, some sitting, one particular couple participating in what he would only describe as "inappropriate behaviors for a corridor", and one was on the ceiling, which wasn't an odd place to be, given their amount of idiotic pranksters. One would think that with his record he'd have been admitted into Special Ops long ago, and he had been considered by multiple teams and bases, but once they discovered his glitch, he was immediately thrown into the reject pile. No one wanted a disgraceful glitch in their midst.

Nightshade, the gestalt leader and their oldest, appeared sane to an outsider, to the point where many thought that he was the rest of the gestalt's "handler", to keep them from going after somebody, presumably. The only problem with that theory was that Night was just as messed up as the rest of them, he just had more of a clear processor and better planning skills. Nightshade had two personalities: himself and Phantom. Phantom was similar to 'Shade, to the point that he could sometimes surface without any of "them" realizing it. Most times, though, Phantom was sarcastic and cynical and brash where 'Shade most certainly was not. The two consciousnesses were aware of each other and could communicate with each other at any given moment (thus giving the gestalt access to Phantom even when he was subdued, making him a pseudo-gestaltmate), but they could not control when Phantom would surface. They only knew that he appeared more often during times of battle or when Night was angry (which meant that Phantom probably was, too). All in all, the gestalt was a walking pysch ward and a psychologist's dream challenge.

A black servo was waved in Blitz's face. "Hello?" the silver mech in front of him asked. "Anybody there? You totally zoned out on me, mech." Blitz shook his head, trying to clear his processor. An announcement came on over the intercom system.

"Listen up, all of you fraggers." It was the base's commander, Lightfire. He was obviously named for his cheery personality. Unlike Blitz, he was like this all orn long, all the time. "We have some important mechs coming for a visit! And I mean IMPORTANT! That means no pranks, no backtalk, no inappropriate conduct INCLUDING what's currently going on in the hallway in front of storeroom A-7- yes I DO know what you're doing and I CAN see you- but most of all, no insults or cursing! Do you understand me, you pack of pit-spawned overgrown-sparkling slaggers?!" Not only did the commander find it necessary to emphasize all of his speech through shouting (and shouting louder to highlight key words), but he also obviously didn't practice what he preached.

"I expect everyone to be assembled in a NEAT AND ORDERLY FASHION at the main gate in EXACTLY ONE BREEM! If you are not there, I will make your pathetic lives even more miserable than they already are, you no-good excuses for slag! Everyone must be accounted for and on their best behavior and looking their best, or as good as you dumbafts CAN look! I don't care what you're doing, but be down at the main gate in a breem!" He paused for a moment, and then added before ending the announcement, "That one breem started back when I said EXACTLY ONE BREEM, so MOVE, you idiotic mediocre useless heaps of scrap!"

Sighing loudly, Crash grabbed Blitz's arm and began to lead him down the hallway at a swift pace; they were on the opposite side of the base from the main gate, and they had a long way to go. Forcefully pulling Blitz wouldn't have been necessary if it weren't for the fact that Blitz liked to annoy Lightfire, and walking extra slow just so he could be late would be one of his favorite things to do. In fact, he'd just been thinking of doing it once he'd heard the announcement.

Blitz had the curious ability to get under Lightfire's plating like no one else could. He loved to test his authority (and often ended up "winning" when trying to get his way) and insisted on breaking rules by the bulk and often. The reason he irked Lightfire so much probably had to do with the fact that he, like with the rest of "them", had never been spoken to by Blitz, so arguing with and yelling at him was like shouting at a wall. No, the wall gave more of a reaction. Blitz would stand completely still, of course silent, and he didn't show any emotion through his face plates either, even under his constant mask.

After racing across the structure, the pair reached the main gate. On their way they were joined by their other two gestaltmates. Slysight was a light gray mech, with orange on his helm and forearms and black servos. Nightshade was a glossy black, much like Blitz, the only differences being that Blitz, as a seeker, was the only flier, Nightshade was the tallest and Blitz was short even for a seeker (though not as short as Sly), and Blitz had electric blue lines of paint covering his body, stylized to look like a web of cracks. It was original, to say the least.

_:: Anyone know what this is all about? :: _Crash asked.

_:: Nothing other than what you know; apparently someone "IMPORTANT" is coming. Whoever it is, Lightfire thinks they're a big deal. ::_ 'Shade told them.

_:: Frag Lightfire! :: _Blitz commented.

_:: Hey, watch the language! ::_ Night scolded him. This was a comment he made often, as Blitz, for as quiet as he was, had quite a mouthy streak.

The commander then appeared, a gruff, angry looking mech painted in a dull green shade. He wasn't as threatening as he appeared; he was more of a blowhard. They fell into line, everyone standing at attention after one last glare from Lightfire. A ship was landing, a really, really big ship. The largest anyone had seen.

It landed and its crew unloaded. It was, to say the least, big. Huge, really. A tall, imposing mech decked out in red and blue stepped forward. Mechs gasped as they recognized him, and for once, 'Shade didn't chastise anyone when Sly sent the thought, _::Slag. ::_ They were too busy agreeing.

Optimus Prime, the leader of the Autobots. He was here. At the glitch base. Which meant that this giant ship was the Ark, and all of these mechs were its crew.

"I am Optimus Prime," he introduced himself.

_:: No slag, really?! ::_ Phantom finally spoke up. Nightshade shushed him.

"Welcome sir, we are so excited to see you here!" Lightfire gushed. Everyone rolled their optics in a synchronized fashion. "May I ask what, exactly, brought you here?"

"We shall be staying for an orn to recharge and restock our supplies, but the reason we stopped here is to add a few members of your base to our crew." Shock echoed across the room, and more than one mech scoffed audibly. Lightfire voiced this thought.

"Um, sir? Why would you want a member of my base? I mean, they are, excuse my language, glitches." A red and white mech from the Ark's crew hissed at this language.

"Because we're looking for a specific group of mechs. We have heard that you have a gestalt here?"

"Them!?" the commander shrieked. Seeing the prime's look, he muttered, "Over there." He pointed at the gestalt.

"Um, hi?" Sly asked more than greeted.

"Well ain't this as fragged up as all Pit?" Crash laughed. To put it lightly, it didn't help anything.

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**I got the idea for a base of screw-ups and glitches from **_**outerelf**_**'s awesome story Welcome to the Ark****. Check it out, and please review!**


	3. Psycho

**A few reviews, so that's nice; thank you to those who reviewed. There will be slash in this, in case you didn't realize from the Starscream/Skywarp/Thundercracker pairing in the Prologue. I'm not sure how long Cybertronians live (some people imply forever, but I think that was due to their relatively long lifespan), so does anyone know? Also, how do vorns compare to human years? I know one vorn is 83 years, but how many vorns would a Cybertronian be if they were in human years, say, 10 years old? If anyone knows, please tell me! I've decided to use some Cybertronian terms interchangeably with human terms (ex: using both servos and hands, designation and name); I'm only mentioning this so you know that it's not a mistake. This is still kind of a short chapter. On with the chapter!**

**Breem - 8.3 Earth minutes - Equivalent to a Cybertronian minute**

**Joor - About 6.5 Earth hours - Cybertronian hour**

**Orn - About 13 Earth days - Cybertronian day**

**Deca-Orn - About 130 Earth days - 10 orns**

**Vorn - About 83 Earth years - Cybertronian year**

**Nano-klik - About half of an Earth second**

_:: blah ::_**- gestalt link**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Transformers or any of its characters. I do own Blitz, the gestalt, Lightfire, and anyone else that's not canon. The lyrics to "Psycho" belong to Puddle of Mudd.**

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**"**_**Maybe I'm the one, maybe I'm the one who is the schizophrenic psycho, yeah**_

_**Maybe I'm the one, maybe I'm the one who is the paranoid flake-o"**_

_~ "Psycho" – Puddle of Mudd_

If he wasn't supposed to be setting a good example, Optimus would have laughed at the youngling's outburst. Really, all of this "curious" (Perceptor's word) gestalt were barely out of their youngling stages. In human terms, the oldest would be 18 years, the youngest 16 years, with the ages of the other two thrown in between, according to their records, though they were spotty at best. The records of the gestalt were horribly bare, like those of many stationed at this base. Sure, they contained plenty of information on their glitches, and they mentioned in passing that they were a gestalt, but they were lacking many key pieces of information, such as, oh, their designations. The Autobots kept referring to them as "that gestalt".

They'd first discovered "that gestalt" by mistake. It had been decided that the Ark could use some more members, so the Autobot ranks had to be searched for potential candidates. The mechs in charge of this were given lists of specific bases, ones with the best reputations, to scour for these potentials. The glitch base was not on this list, for obvious reasons. However, due to hasty sorting of the bases, it landed on the list and the records of all of its occupants were checked.

The mech reading over the base found mention of the gestalt in a file about a young mech who he thought could be helpful in Special Ops, he'd said, if you ignored the glitch. Living on the Ark, you got used to high levels of insanity- and that wasn't including Red Alert's glitch. To most of the Ark, having a glitch wasn't much of a big deal; at least then you could put a name to your brand of insanity. He showed this file to Prowl, who was surprised to find that the Autobots had a gestalt that he'd never even heard about. Jazz was just upset that he'd never heard of a mech who almost every base he'd ever been to had described as "Special Ops material".

Perceptor had been very interested when he learned of the gestalt. As he'd stated, it was highly uncommon for a gestalt to even have different, clashing colors, let alone be totally different makes and models with different sizes and unrelated purposes. One of them was even a Seeker, which was surprising in itself- Seekers were all thought to be Decepticons. He'd deemed them a "most curious case" and he thought that taking them aboard the Ark would be a "highly enlightening experience". Wheeljack had interpreted that to mean "they'd be really helpful and he wants to examine them". Prime said that that could be arranged, and here they were, with the entire Ark's crew standing on the landing pad of a base only known as "the glitch base", staring at a baffled gestalt and a spluttering, indignant commander.

"What did I say about cursing, you Pit-spawned slagger?!" hissed the commander- what was his name? Optimus remembered Prowl telling him the name right before landing, but he hadn't really been paying attention. Brightflare? Brightfire? No, Lightfire, that was it! Lightfire was yelling at the wiry sliver mech who'd last spoken. Gone was his gushing, brownnosing tone; Prime suspected that this was more like the "real" him, considering that the verbal abuse did not seem to phase anyone from the base. The Ark's crew, on the other hand, was shocked. None of their superiors ever spoke to them that way unless it was in jest or they were Ratchet, and Ratchet just insulted because he cared, as strange as that sounded. Apparently a verbal lashing was not uncommon here. Optimus would have to fix that before the end of this visit.

"Don't know, ya were too busy cussin' yerself for anyone to hear much of anythin'," the still unnamed sliver mech replied in an accent not unlike Ironhide or Inferno's, but slightly more subdued.

"Why you-" The furious and thoroughly embarrassed commander drew his arm back as if to strike the silver mech. Every mech from the Ark tensed and prepared for a fight; the base mechs again appeared to be unperturbed. But a fight did not occur.

As Lightfire's arm came forward for the punch, a black servo shot out and stopped it midair. All optics turned to follow up the arm to the face, or the mask covering the face. It was another member of the gestalt, the Seeker. Black with some intricate design in blue, he stood still, not moving nor releasing his grip on the commander's arm.

"You," the commander seethed, optics burning with hatred and what Optimus read as not a small amount of fear. "Let go of me now, you fragging psychopath." But the arm held steady, the mech refusing to release his iron grip which appeared to be tightening the more Lightfire tried to escape it. Apparently deciding to address Optimus now, he turned his head slightly towards the prime and said in a very pathetic tone, "See, sir? See what I have to deal with? I'd love to get rid of these ones, especially this glitch here," He nods towards the unmovable Seeker. "But they're obviously too unstable to even be _here_, let alone on the _Ark_. I mean, have you seen this one's," He nodded to the Seeker again. "Records? Have you read his diagnosis? Slagger's sociopathic, manic depressive and just plain depressed. Not exactly elite material. Plus, if you haven't noticed, he can't talk, and I'm fairly sure he can't feel emotion either. He's a psycho; he should've been put down a long time ago-"

At this point another of the gestalt stepped forward, the tall black mech, presumably their leader. He moved swiftly and got right in Lightfire's face and seethed, "Don't you dare continue that thought if you want to live, got that, you useless piece of slag, or so help me Primus I'll rip you apart piece by piece and make you eat your own limbs before you die. And that would be the beginning." He looked ready to continue, but the fourth member of the gestalt, the small one who Prime was fairly sure was a minibot moved forward, placing his servo on his leader's arm and murmuring, "Phantom, no. Calm down, this isn't the time or place." Slowly, the black mech moved back, though the Seeker had yet to remove his grip from Lightfire's arm.

"Did you see that sir? Did you see that?" Lightfire sounded like a youngling who'd just caught another stealing an energon goodie. "That one is their 'leader', and he's as messed up as the rest of them! He's got- agh!" The black servo was now squeezing the limb hard enough for green paint to scrape as the metal it was on began to dent. The Seeker was completely unreadable with his mask on, and he still had yet to make a sound. Optimus decided that he should try to defuse the situation, though really, he thought that Lightfire deserved it. So, apparently, did the base's crew, some of whom had wandered off to Primus knew where, though most had stuck around, watching the occurrences with unhidden glee.

"I think it would be best if you let go of him now," Optimus began in a placating tone, walking toward the pair with his hands held up calmingly. The black Seeker finally moved, turning his head slowly, so slowly to look at Optimus. It looked like a scene out of one of the twins' horror vids, the kind that had been made before the war started. He stared a nano-klik longer before carefully extracting his servo from the commander's arm and stepping back to stand next to the silver mech, in line with his gestalt.

"May I know your designations?" Optimus calmly asked the smallest mech, the one who'd calmed down the leader, whom he'd addressed as Phantom; at least he knew one of their names. "I know that your leader's designation is Phantom." The small mech looked terribly embarrassed and he began to fidget and avert his optics. His left optic twitched in what Ratchet informed him over a com. link was an indicator of trying to suppress a glitch. Ratchet told him that this was a sign of him being very in control of his glitch, for the most part, if a twitch in his optic was the only sign.

"Uh, I'm Slysight, and, uh, his designation's not Phantom, it's Nightshade," he muttered, looking very unhappy for some reason.

"Then why did you call him Phantom?" Optimus asked, confused.

"It's his nickname," the silver mech interjected smoothly. "I gave it to him; I give everyone nicknames. Can I call you OP? 'S okay, I will anyway. My designation is Sprinkles, yeah, I know, terrible, right? But alas, it's the name my creators gave me, an' I'm stuck with it." He looked very forlorn at this.

"He's lying!" crowed Lightfire. "That one is a compulsive liar, his real designation is Crash. Not only does he lie, but he's hyperactive; it is _so_ annoying. He never shuts up!"

"Do _you_?" Ironhide growled from his place next to Optimus. He'd been able to stay silent so far, but this was going too far. At least the commander had enough logic chips to know to look ashamed if he didn't want to get his aft kicked.

"Is this true?" Prime asked the silver mech, now known as Crash. Crash shrugged and nodded. "Yep, pretty much. I'm glitchy, what can I say? We all are. Not much of a big deal. Though wasn't my execution of that lie totally awesome? I thought so. I always wanted to be an actor. By the way, that was a lie, too. Hate actin', got shot by an actor once. Also a lie, but it sounded real, right?" All Optimus could do was nod and smile behind his mouth guard; it was just a tad bit disconcerting, and he had no idea what the mech had just said.

"So," Optimus began. "Could you please tell me the designation of the Seeker next to you, as he can't speak?" This was not the best thing to say, as even through Crash's visor, the Prime cold see his blue optics narrow.

"He can too speak!" he exclaimed. "Just 'cause he don't want to don't mean that he can't!" Lightfire spoke up again. "Oh yeah? Then why has no one here ever heard him make any noise, hmm? Why is that?" Crash only scowled more. "'Cause he thinks that yer an aft an' he don't see a reason to talk to anyone else." Optimus again tried to mediate the two.

"Well, would he speak to me?" he asked hopefully. This was very stressful, trying to keep mechs from attempting to rip each other apart. Crash looked thoughtful before he, Slysight, and Nightshade replied in unison, "No."

"Why not?" Optimus inquired, perplexed. He was feeling a processor ache coming on. Crash paused and then answered, "'Cause Blitz doesn't like to talk aloud, ever."

There was a sudden noise from the ranks of the Ark, and a yelp as a poor minibot was thrown aside in haste. After more complaints from shoved mechs, the twin terrors of the Ark made it to the front of the crowd, Bluestreak being dragged behind them. Only Blue looked nervous to have everyone staring at him.

Sunstreaker looked Optimus in the optics and sharply asked, "Did he just say that the Seeker's designation is Blitz?" Optimus was positively baffled. "Yes, but I don't see why-"

"Prime!" Sideswipe cut him off. "Come on, doesn't that sound familiar, a _black Seeker_ named _Blitz_?" Finally, it clicked in Prime's CPU. He turned sharply to the Seeker who finally started to show an emotion- anxiety. He was shifting uneasily from pede to pede.

"Blitz?" The Prime asked softly, stepping closer to the seeker like he was a frightened turbo-fox. The Seeker stepped back nervously. Lightfire began to grin evilly and snicker- that was, until Ironhide threatened him and smacked him upside the helm. "Blitz? Is that you?"

The mech continued to step backward, shaking his head and visibly shaking. Slysight put an arm around his shoulders and the other two members of the gestalt stepped in front of him protectively. Blitz paused and looked at the other members of the gestalt and then vaguely nodded to them, seeming to have calmed himself, and he shrugged off the smaller mech and pushed through the older two. He stood in front of the Prime, looked around at the Ark's crew, the mechs around him, and he nodded.

"Blitz!" Sideswipe yelled, tackling the black mech to the ground. The gestalt immediately tensed, and was about to spring to protect their gestaltmate when they heard the red twin's gleeful laughter as he pulled Sunstreaker down with him. Sunstreaker had his servo on Bluestreak's arm, pulling him down, too. They ended up in a mech pile on the floor, and shockingly, Blitz didn't seem to mind.

Wheeljack stepped forward with Ratchet, both standing next to Optimus so they could get a better view of the seeker. "He's grown so much," Wheeljack whispered in awe. He was glad he had his mask on; everyone would see him tearing up otherwise. "He has," Ratchet agreed. "But the real question is, why doesn't he talk? And why does he wear a mask?"

Wheeljack looked pained. "What happened to him, Ratch?"

* * *

**Ooh, yes, some of the Ark know Blitz! How? I'll tell next chapter, which will probably be soon. Crash has a southern accent, if you didn't understand what was meant by saying that his accent is like Ironhide and Inferno's. Please review!**


	4. Welcome to Wherever You Are

**Not much to say about this chapter. It incorporates more ideas from ****Little Brother**** by **_**Meiza**_**. If you've read it, you'll see what I mean, though I did adjust things to make them original and to fit my story.**

**Breem - 8.3 Earth minutes**

**Joor - About 6.5 Earth hours**

**Orn - About 13 Earth days**

**Vorn - About 83 Earth years**

_:: blah ::_**- gestalt link**

**Blah** **- Com. link**

_**Thornwitch**_**: Thanks for the info!**

_**Kelly**_**: Thank you very much, and you'll see!**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Transformers or any of its characters. I do own Blitz, the gestalt, Lightfire, and anyone else that's not canon. The lyrics to "Welcome to Wherever You Are" belong to Bon Jovi.**

* * *

"_**Welcome to wherever you are**_

_**This is your life; you've made it this far"**_

_~ "Welcome to Wherever You Are" – Bon Jovi_

_A few vorns after the Prologue_

Ratchet sighed. Out of all of Praxus, only a very small amount, less than one percent, had survived. It had been a massacre. Bodies were strewn left and right, energon covering everything in sight. The Decepticons had done many fowl things before, but this was the worst that anyone had ever seen, by far.

He looked down at the deactivated body in front of him. It was no use even checking it for signs of life; the gray shade that it had taken on was proof enough of its deactivation. What made it worse was the body of a sparkling cradled in its arms. So far, very few younglings had been found alive. Those that were had been the creations of neutrals that were already in the process of leaving the city when the attack came. Those neutrals and their families appeared to be the only survivors of the vicious slaughter.

Prowl com'ed him. **Ratchet, I believe I may have found a survivor.**

Ratchet's head shot up at the remark, even though he couldn't see Prowl on the other side of the city. **You believe or you have? **He snapped. **It's one or the other, Prowl, you can't just guess!**

Prowl replied, unflappable as ever, **I have found a young Praxian native, a sparkling to be precise. He appears to be in shock, but aside from some dents, he's mostly unharmed.** Outwardly, Ratchet appeared to be fine, just as stoic as the moment before. Inside, he was elated and had broken into his happy dance that no one was supposed to know about. Quickly reigning in his joy, he asked, **And its creators?**

Prowl paused, the only indication of how this situation was affecting him. He answered softly but briskly, **They didn't make it.**

Ratchet wanted to beat his own head against a wall. Of course, of _course_, they find one sparkling that hadn't been leaving as the attack came, and it's been orphaned. It was sparkbreaking, it truly was.

**Bring him to me.** With that, Ratchet closed the com. link. A few breems later, Prowl approached carrying a small gray sparkling. Jazz approached from the other direction. Upon seeing his bondmate carrying a sparkling, he immediately rushed forward to see the sparkling.

"Aw Prowler, ya told me tha' ya had found a sparklin' but ya didn't mention tha' he was so _cute_!" Jazz made motions to take the sparkling from his bonded's arms, but was blocked by Ratchet who picked it up to perform preliminary scans on it. The sparkling, for his part, looked nervous to be around all of them, but it squirmed and fussed at being removed from Prowl's warm arms where it had been comfortably nestled.

"Has he spoken yet?" Ratchet asked gruffly. Prowl replied, "Not much, but he did tell me that his designation is Bluestreak. It may be shock, but he seems to be too young to use full sentences, though he knows many words."

"That would fit with his age; he seems to be learning at the proper rate, then. Let's grab Ironhide and we'll go back to the Ark." Ratchet then opened a com. link with Ironhide, saying, **'Hide, we've got a sparkling. Meet us back at the designated area and we'll continue on to the Ark from here.**

**That makes two then,** Ironhide replied. **What are you talking about?** Ratchet snapped, not wanting to be trifled with after seeing so much death. **Two what?!**

**Two sparklin's, **he responded lightly. **Ah got one here that Ah found when Ah was searchin' a buildin'. Poor thin' was all alone; the mechs that look to have been lookin' after him were deactivated.**

Getting over his shock quickly, Ratchet sent, **You mean his creators were offlined.** Ironhide answered grimly, **No, Ah mean that the mechs that were takin' care of the sparklin' were offlined. Ratch, the sparklin' is a seekerlet. There are no other seekers on Praxus, not even the mechs that the sparklin' was with.**

Dread filled Ratchet's spark. There were no Seekers in the Autobots, and while there were neutral seekers, neutrals did not send their young to be looked after by others. If anything, they worked to the best of their ability to keep their families together. The only mechs that sent their creations to other places for protection were ones that were involved in the war. _And there were no Autobot seekers._

**Slag,** Ratchet sent back. **Bring him here, then, and we'll figure out what to do when we get back to the Ark.** After terminating the link, he sighed and rubbed his helm in exhaustion, balancing Bluestreak in his other arm. This was not good; he didn't even want to think about their options at the moment. He'd just let Prime fret over it- right now, he had two sparkling to look after, and as a medic, that was his major concern.

He looked at the gray mechling in his arms. Curious and a little frightened blue optics stared back. The shock appeared to be wearing off - Ratchet wasn't sure if that was good or not. Sometimes being in shock kept a patient calm enough to get them to a better treatment facility when they would have reacted very badly otherwise. He could only hope that the little sparkling wouldn't freak out too much before getting back to the Ark.

"Can I hold him?" Jazz asked hopefully, his visor flashing in hope as he watched Bluestreak. "Fine," Ratchet sighed. He was doing a lot of sighing lately. He passed the sparkling off to Jazz, who immediately wrapped his arms around him securely, holding the mechling close to his spark. Bluestreak, for his part, did not seem to mind the change of hands as much as he had before. He released a burst of air from his intakes, the Cybertronian version of a yawn. He then glanced up at Jazz with sleepy optics. Jazz just about melted on the spot.

"Aw, aren't ya just precious?" he cooed at the sparkling, who giggled at the attention. "Prowler, can we keep him?" he asked, looking at his bondmate pleadingly. Prowl sighed, not unlike how Ratchet had been. "Jazz, you know we can't take care of a sparkling in the middle of a war. If we could have, we wouldn't have had to send our own to stay with the femmes." Well, Ratchet had not known _that_. "You two have a sparkling?" he inquired. They were a little on the young side to be creators, but not so much that it would draw attention.

Jazz nodded solemnly. "We agreed tha' tryin' to raise him on the Ark would be dangerous, so we sent him to stay with Elita and her group of femmes when they offered. Ya know tha' she and her bunch of femmes are helpin' out neutrals, but they're also takin' care of some sparklin's tha' belong to members of the Autobots. Well, they're lookin' out for ours, too." Jazz looked quiet for a moment before asking quietly, "Hey Ratch? How much could a sparklin' remember if they were about one an' a half vorns old?"

Ratchet could see the real underlying question there: Would their sparkling remember them? The chances weren't very good, but Ratchet did his best to be optimistic (quite a feat for him) while truthful. "At that age, their memory chips would not be fully formed. Unless a situation was extremely traumatic and horrifying enough to proverbially burn it into their processors, they probably wouldn't have any complete memories yet. By complete, I mean a memory containing their full audio, visual and sensory inputs from the experience. Ideally, the most the sparkling could be expected to remember after long periods of time would be a color or shape, or possibly a sound byte, but the chances of them remembering any one mech after extended periods of time apart are sadly slim to none." It wasn't what the pair had wanted to hear, and it wasn't what Ratchet had wanted to tell them, but it was the truth, and the bondmates were thankful for that.

"Thank you, Ratchet," Prowl intoned softly as he reached to place a comforting servo on Jazz's shoulder. Jazz cradled the gray mechling close to his chassis, resting his head on top of the little helm. He mumbled, "If our lil' creation can't be raised by us, can't we at least help out this one?" he asked. "Would that be betraying him?" He sounded worried at this.

"No, love, it wouldn't be. The femmes are overcrowded as it is, and it was a strain just to take in the families of the Autobots along with all of these neutrals as well. We'll talk to Prime, and if arrangements can't be made, then we'll _think_ about taking him in." He emphasized that they weren't taking in the sparkling for sure, but Jazz was off like a child whose parents suggested that they _might_ get him a puppy.

"Oh, this is gonna be so great!" Jazz all but squealed, holding the sparkling above his head and spinning in a circle, effectively waking the small sparkling who couldn't understand why he was suddenly twirling.

"What's up with him?" a deep, accented voice said from behind Ratchet. The medic spun on his pedes to see his bondmate, Ironhide, standing behind him. Tucked securely in the crook of his elbow, almost hidden from view by a large red arm, was a small black sparkling, even younger than Bluestreak was.

Choosing to ignore the Weapons Specialist's question, Ratchet rushed forward and made to take the sparkling from the other mech's arms, but Ironhide turned to the side, shielding the sparkling from view. "Shh!" he admonished his bondmate, which shocked Ratchet. "Yer gonna wake 'im up!" He nodded to the bundle curled in his arms. Peering closer over the red appendage covering the sparkling, Ratchet could see that the sparkling was, indeed, a seekerlet. It was curled into a ball, as sparklings were prone to do, not only to hide and to protect their internals better, but also to make them easier to carry. The recharging sparkling had its chin firmly tucked into its chassis, and was nestled comfortably in one of Ironhide's arms, not needing a second one to keep it from falling.

Jazz had finally stopped spinning the now slightly nauseas looking Bluestreak, and he approached with Prowl to see what Ratchet was finding so interesting. "There's another one?" Prowl murmured in surprise. "Lemme see!" Jazz exclaimed excitedly. His exuberance made it impossible for the sparkling in his arms to reach any resemblance of recharge, his chances of which had already diminished greatly during his little spin. Bluestreak, now wide awake, peeped out of Jazz's arms to see for himself what all of the fuss was about. When he saw the other sparkling, he began to chirp happily and loudly, trying to rouse the mechling that he'd decided would be his new playmate. Jazz's outburst added with Blue's happy chirrups finally began to wake the seekerlet, who slowly onlined drowsy green optics.

The unnamed winglet stretched (Jazz couldn't help but "aw" at this) and examined its surroundings. Ratchet wasn't sure what he'd been expecting – screaming, crying, confusion, _any_ sort of logical reaction – but he didn't get it. The sparkling checked out each of the mechs surrounding it, paying more attention to Bluestreak, and then snuggled back into Ironhide's arm, deciding to go back into recharge. Everything was quiet for a moment before Jazz said, "Okay, that was adorable." Everyone nodded their agreement, and they began the journey back to the Ark, Bluestreak eyeing everything in wonder as they went.

Upon entering the Ark, the group received many odd looks from the mechs at the door and those they passed in the corridors, but they paid them no mind as they continued on to Ratchet's medbay. Prowl, always one for protocol, com'ed Prime on the way and informed him of their predicament. Optimus agreed to meet them in the medbay.

After performing in-depth scans on the two sparklings, Ratchet confirmed that there was no internal damage to either; most damage was superficial. Bluestreak was dented and scuffed and was in need of energon, but was generally healthy, given the circumstances. The seekerlet had similar ailments, and was a little singed around the edges, but was no worse for wear. Soon after, Prime arrived, looking slightly confused.

"How did two sparklings survive what no adult mech could?" he wondered aloud, staring at the two mechlings who were currently curled together on a berth, recharging.

"My guess," Ratchet began, "Is that they were able to move themselves into small enough spaces that they weren't noticed. It also helps that they don't seem to be as loud and vocal as most sparklings, though that assumption was made without having heard them make any noise. In fact, the winglet was only awake for an extremely brief period of time. We know even less about it than we do Bluestreak, the other sparkling. The winglet is probably too young to speak at all, beyond gibberish and a few nonsense syllables. It may know its own designation, if we're lucky."

"Why do ya keep callin' him 'it', Ratch?" Jazz asked from his place next to the berth the sparklings were on, petting Bluestreak's helm with one hand and gently rubbing the seekerlet's wings with the other. "I mean, he's very obviously a mechlet."

"Referring to someone as an 'it', thus removing not only gender, but any form of attachment, is often used as a distancing technique," Prowl pointed out, much to Ratchet's dismay. All optics turned to him, some accusing, though most were confused.

"Why would you want to distance yourself from the sparklings, Ratchet?" Prime asked him. Ratchet sighed, "Not Bluestreak, just the seekerlet. Prime, you must have noticed. A _seeker_ sparkling, found alone with the bodies of his caretakers, two very obvious ground models? We all know that there are no Autobot seekers." He sighed again in resignation.

"We can't jus' judge him for that!" Jazz exclaimed with a determined air, "He's jus' a sparklin'; it's not like he chose his creators. Jus' 'cause he's got 'Con creators doesn't mean tha' he's gotta grow up to be one. Whoever his creators are, they obviously cared for him enough to wanna keep him outta the 'Cons. Who says he can't be a 'Bot, then?" The sparklings began to rouse from their recharge at the loud noises, because as Jazz spoke, not only did his voice rise in decibel levels, but he'd stopped petting them so he could wave his servos in the air emphatically.

"Jazz," Prime began softly, optics weary, "It's not that we're judging him for his creators, or for anything. It's that his creators will probably take a personal offense to our having him in our possession."

"Besides," Ironhide added solemnly, "We don't know who his creators are. For all we know, it could be Starscream's trine." At this, the little winglet's head popped up, and it looked around swiftly, as if searching for someone. It let out a soft, disappointed click when it didn't find whoever it had been searching for. All occupants of the room, save Bluestreak, stared at the mechlet in expressions of shock mixed with sadness.

"Well," Ratchet said with a sense of finality, "I guess that answers that question."

Suddenly, the doors to the medbay swished open and Wheeljack entered. He immediately dumped whatever project he'd wanted to show Ratchet on an empty berth (everyone winced and prayed to Primus it wouldn't explode) as he saw the sparklings. Rushing up to them, he all but squealed in delight.

"Can I hold one?" he asked without prelude. Baffled, Optimus could only nod. Happily, the inventor swooped down and lifted, surprisingly, the winglet into his arms. Unlike most sparklings, who would cower and cry at the swift upward motion, or possibly even purge their tanks, the odd little seekerlet actually cooed happily at the movement, lifting his arms in a grabbing motion. Acknowledging the request, Wheeljack brought the mechling to his chassis, cuddling it for all to see. Again, everyone stared. In response, Wheeljack said, "What can I say? I love sparklings. Primus knows we never get to see any, what with the war and all. So who's going to look after them?"

That wasn't something anyone had thought about. "I guess we'll be sending them to stay with the other neutrals," Prime conceded. Jazz quickly relayed to him his idea of taking care of Bluestreak. "Please, Prime?" he asked, looking almost like a sparkling himself. Optimus, after thinking a moment, decided to agree.

"I guess, as Elita's team is having problems with crowding and space, we could hold onto the sparklings, at least until they have more space-" Here Jazz cheered and grabbed up Bluestreak, continuing his twirling episode from earlier, saying, "See, Blue? You're gonna stay with me an' Prowler! Hey, maybe we can set ya up on a play date with Red Alert's brothers, they're a little older than ya, and they're twins, but I think you'd have fun."

Optimus waited before continuing, "But who is going to look after the seekerlet?"

"I will!" Wheeljack exclaimed immediately. At everyone's looks, he said, "I always wanted a sparkling of my own." Not having the spark to remind him that he wouldn't be keeping the sparkling, Ratchet could only nod. He'd tell him of the winglet's probable creators later. And then he'd deal with the impending reaction.

"What's your name?" Wheeljack was asking the seekerlet. They all smiled, not expecting a response, but they got one. After much chirping and clicking, and a few repetitions of the words "name" and "designation" by 'Jack, a garbled "Blitz" could be heard.

"Hi Blitz!" Wheeljack greeted jovially. All anyone could do was smile at a small bright spot in a wretched war.

* * *

**There will be more from this time frame later, but not probably not next chapter. At one time in the future this chapter may have three open time frames at once, but for now it's only two. Yes, Red Alert and the twins are brothers; the twins are a little older than Bluestreak, who's slightly older than Blitz. This can be told from their speech patterns (or lack thereof). Prowl and Jazz are bonded, as are Ratchet and Ironhide. I want to put Wheeljack with someone; any ideas? The only ones that aren't options are the gestalt, Bluestreak, the twins, Bumblebee, Mirage, Tracks, Hound, and possibly Cliffjumper, I'm not sure on him (all either for their ages in this fic or because I have plans for them). Please review!**


	5. Unwell

**All right, it's been a while, but I was writing and posting for another story, so this is pretty timely of me. This is a little short, but oh well, I wrote it all today, so be happy. Less on Blitz in this chapter, but I realized that the gestalt seemed to be a little too perfect, like they had glitches but it didn't really come into play. This gives a look into two (or three, depending how you look at it) of the glitches and how they manifest themselves. Also, I really love Phantom and he knows it; he kept yelling at me in my head that he needed more than just a few passing mentions. That's right, I talk to my characters. Ah well, I've been weirder. And yes, before you ask, Crash is supposed to have bad grammar skills – he knows how he **_**should**_** talk, he just doesn't. This is back to the normal timeline, so you know. The lyrics in this chapter really describe the gestalt well, Slysight in particular. I always imagine him when I hear this song.**

**Breem - 8.3 Earth minutes - Equivalent to a Cybertronian minute**

**Joor - About 6.5 Earth hours - Cybertronian hour**

**Orn - About 13 Earth days - Cybertronian day**

**Deca-Orn - About 130 Earth days - 10 orns**

**Vorn - About 83 Earth years - Cybertronian year**

**Nano-klik - About half of an Earth second**

**_:: blah ::_ - gestalt link**

**Blah - Com. link**

**_Kelly_: Tell me what you don't get and I'll explain it to you. Thanks for reviewing!**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Transformers or any of its characters. I do own Blitz, the gestalt, Lightfire, and anyone else that's not canon. The lyrics to "Unwell" belong to Matchbox Twenty.**

* * *

"_**I'm talkin' to myself in public, dodging glances on the train  
And I know, I know they've all been talkin' about me  
I can hear them whisper, and it makes me think  
There must be somethin' wrong with me  
Out of all the hours thinkin', somehow I've lost my mind**_

**_But I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell  
I know, right now you can't tell  
But stay a while and maybe then you'll see  
A different side of me"_**

_~ "Unwell" – Matchbox Twenty_

Phantom didn't like the way the mechs were staring at his gestalt. He wouldn't quite say that the mechs unnerved him, because absolutely nothing unnerved Phantom. That was his addition to the glitch pool – even though he was only a secondary personality and part of a glitch himself, he had his own glitch. Not that anyone but his gestalt knew that. Phantom's glitch was his inability to feel fear, which explained why he tended to appear in battle, though that wasn't a very good thing on Nightshade's side, considering it made "their" body reckless and could cause a lot of injury. The alternate personality knew what fear felt like from his gestaltmates, but he couldn't feel it for himself; not that he minded, of course.

These mechs, though – their staring was becoming unacceptable in his optics. He didn't like any of these mechs from the Ark. Not only were some of them currently _laying_ on his seeker, who barely let anyone outside of their family touch him, but then there were the two mechs standing next to the Prime, staring with intense interest at Blitz. That would not do. Sly's paranoia had rubbed off on him – any staring became a direct threat, one that Phantom was just itching to dispatch. It would be a lie if one said that Phantom wasn't a possessive, overprotective slagger who enjoyed fighting just a little too much. He, of course, took that as a compliment.

But it was the other pair of mechs that were annoying him the most - the black and white ones that were standing off the side, near the Prime. One had doorwings and a stiff expression; the other was smaller with a visor covering his optics. They were too suspicious for his liking.

With a prod at Slysight's mind, Phantom could feel his smaller comrade's growing agitation. He had noticed the black and whites, too, and their staring, along with that of everyone around them, was freaking him out more than a little. With the added worry for his "brother", being trapped under unknown mechs like that, Sly was on the verge of a breakdown. It was too much at once for him to suppress.

_:: Hey, ::_ Phantom poked at Nightshade's mind. Not getting a response, he pressed harder until his alternate demanded crossly, _:: What?! ::_

Phantom rolled his optics at 'Shade before gesturing him further into their CPU. Inside Nightshade's CPU, both of them existed. They could stand together and see what the other looked like. Many conversations had been held between the two here. As often as they teased and insulted each other, it could easily be said that Phantom was Nightshade's best friend, if only because they were always together.

Both mechs were a shiny, glossy black. It made sense that Phantom looked almost exactly like Night, being that he _was_ the other mech, in a way. The only difference was that Phantom, much to Nightshade's annoyance, was a little bit taller. A perturbing fact: Phantom had red optics. Though most didn't realize it, mechs optics didn't symbolize their faction or anything about them; many mechs in either faction just tended to have matching optics. The gestalt knew that Phantom hated Decepticons, but his appearance in front of the Ark's crew had been a close call. Thank Primus they hadn't noticed how the tall black mech's optics had changed from a sea blue to a purplish red in under a nano-klik.

_:: What's up? ::_ 'Shade asked again, softer this time. He sounded exhausted already, even though they'd just woken up.

_:: Shaders, look at Kitten. He's going to break down, and soon, if we don't do something. ::_ Phantom, despite what Crash had said, was the main issuer of nicknames. The two of them often worked together on names for everyone, but due to Nightshade's valiant attempt at maintaining his dignity, Phantom didn't get to use most out loud. He'd been forbidden to say Slysight's aloud for vorns, due to Sly's embarrassment, but long ago he'd began referring to the small mech by the term used for sparkling turbo-cats. It was a term of endearment, though, and Slysight still permitted him to use it within the privacy of the gestalt link.

_:: Plus, ::_ the alternate personality added, _:: Look at those black and whites over there. I don't like the way that they're looking at my gestalt. ::_

_:: It's not just your gestalt, Van. You need to stop being so possessive. ::_ About the same time that Phantom had started calling him Shaders, Nightshade had started calling him Van. It was the outcome of an accent Phantom had originally inflected, before learning to adjust his speech to sound the same as Nightshade's. It used to be obvious when Phantom appeared, because his accent made it almost impossible to say anything that could be understood. When Phantom said his own name in accent, it came out sounding like he'd said, "Vantom", and the nickname "Van" had stuck.

_:: But you're right, ::_ the dominant personality conceded, _:: We need to calm him down. ::_ But right as this thought was passed, the dam that restrained Sly's glitch began to crack, and the questioning began. The first sign that Sly was glitching – he'd begin to ask a series of rapid-fire, paranoid questions that escalated in speed and pitch the more upset he got.

"Why is all of your crew standing out here?" he asked suddenly, his optics wide in a manner that warned anyone who had experience with glitches that he was glitching. "Logically, you should at least have a skeleton crew on board at all times. Who knows who or what could get on there without you even knowing when you're standing out here? It's irrational and poor planning skills, the type of act that no elite commander would ever condone, which leads me to my next question." He looked at Prime directly in the optics, beginning to fidget as the effects spread to his body. Blitz looked at Sly nervously and began to push his way from under the three unknown mechs, trying to extricate himself from the pile. That was a good thing in Slysight's CPU. Now the gestalt could all run at a moment's notice.

"How do we know that you're who you say you were, and that there aren't any Decepticons in your midst? How do we know that you're serious about recruiting us and you're not trying to imprison us, or separate us, or mock us or torture us or hurt us or kill us or-" Slysight's train of thought was cut off when a red and white mech, one of the two mechs who'd step forward to get a better view of Blitz, approached him, servos held up in a placating gesture. It did nothing to help the poor mech; in fact, it scared him even more. For each step the mech took forward, Sly took one back.

"Relax," the mech intoned gently; this, of course, made Sly tense up more. "My designation is Ratchet; I'm a medic. I just want to help you."

"I don't need your help!" Sly shouted. Medics, medics were bad. Very bad, with the exception of Crash, the only medic he trusted. Medics were only a step up from _them_, and that was one very shallow step.

"You're alright; I won't hurt you. You're glitching and I just want to help you."

"No, you want to kill me, or maim me, or use me for spare parts, or something else that's devious."

The medic – or so he claimed – sighed in what might've been exasperation before turning and calling to the crowd, "Red Alert? Would you come here, please?"

SHNIK!

Seeing a mech moving through the crowd and expecting a threat, Sly released a blade in his right arm and held his arm defensively in front of himself, shaking his head nervously as his twitching increased. "Not another step!" he exclaimed.

Yet the other mech, also red and white with some black accents, continued forward until he was standing next to the so-called medic. "My name is Red Alert," he began softly, "But that's a little redundant considering you just heard Ratchet call me."

Behind him, Slysight could feel Nightshade and Crash approaching him softly. They knew it was a comfort to him, to have his brothers around him. Blitz was pulling away from the unknown mechs who'd tackled him, though they were holding onto his arm, tying to keep him with them. Huh, two of the mechs, twins, presumably, looked an awful lot like this Red Alert in front of him. He'd have to look into that one later. Their delaying Blitz's return to the gestalt, though, was upsetting him more; he was becoming worried that his theory of separation was true.

Red Alert continued, "Ratchet wouldn't try to harm you. _I_ trust him, and I have a paranoia glitch, like you." Sly tensed more at this.

"How do you know that I have a paranoia glitch?!" he asked, even though he knew it was obvious at the moment that he was paranoid. Despite knowing that, an unknown mech knowing information about him without being told was deemed highly suspicious by his glitch, which was on even higher alert now, if that was possible. Sly brandished the blade in front of himself, warding off the medic's continued approach.

"You need assistance before you fry your CPU!" Ratchet yelled, trying for a different tactic, one that he implied more often. If a mech wouldn't respond to gentle reassurance, then he'd make them respond to threat and anger. The only issue was that this scared the mech even more.

Sneering at the "medic", Crash stepped between the two, scoffing, "Yeah, smart idea, dumbaft, why don't ya scare the slag out of 'im more than you already have! Seriously, are you mental? I mean, I _am_ mental and _I _can tell that you're only diggin' yerself a deeper grave here."

Silence echoed through the Ark's crew. No one, _no one_ insulted Ratchet "The Hatchet" and lived to tell the tale – or, at the very least, they woke up reconfigured into a femme, or a toaster, or something else that was undesirable to wake up as.

Ratchet stiffened and unleashed his "glare o' doom" (patent pending) upon the young mech. Crash, being Crash, could care less. Ratchet had to resort to other measures.

"I'm a medic! He obviously needs medical help before he harms himself or some other mech, and your standing in the way won't help any. And if you ever speak back to me so rudely, _youngling_, I'll be forced to remind you that I'm the Autobot's CMO and _your_ superior, giving me complete rights to punish you in any matter I see fit." He let the threat hang in the air. But Crash didn't care about what he planned to do to him; he continued to be his snarky old self.

"Promise?" he asked with wide, innocent seeming optics that could be seen even through his visor.

Ratchet growled and reached for a wrench to throw at this insolent _sparkling_, but the silver mech began to laugh at him, shocking the CMO. Another thing nobody did? Laugh at Ratchet. Unless you were the twins or Ratchet was over-energized, you would never get away alive. And the twins usually got theirs for it later.

"Y'all are just _way_ too fun to mess with, mech," Crash chuckled, "But yer services aren't needed here. I'm a medic, too – head medic on the base. I've dealt with everyone's glitches here. So if y'all are willin' to excuse me, he'll be fine." He gestured for Ratchet and Red Alert to leave. Ratchet looked shocked and confused, and Red Alert looked bemused as he left to return to the side of a giant red fire truck. Ratchet stood there, gaping.

"_You_ are a _medic_?!" he scoffed incredulously. Crash's optics narrowed in return, but before he could respond, Lightfire, who'd been oddly quiet, suddenly spoke up, "Only because he's the only one we could get on base! Trust me; you're _much_ better than he is. He _sings _in the medbay while he works. _Sings_." Lightfire repeated the word for emphasis.

"Remind me not to repair you next time you come into the medbay," the silver mech grumbled. Looking back at the elder medic defiantly, he said, "Yes, I'm a medic. I'm fully certified, and I'm also a glitch. But I thought that mechs on the Ark didn't judge others for their glitches." The last statement was a trap, and everyone knew it. If Ratchet continued to insult the young medic, he'd be branded prejudiced, which he most definitely was _not_! Sighing, he looked behind the younger mech to see that the gestalt leader, Nightshade, was holding the small mech in his arms, comforting him while Blitz – it was still hard to believe that it was the same little Blitz he'd met so long ago – approached the pair. Just his presence seemed to calm the small mech.

Optimus Prime cleared his vocalizer. Gaining everyone's attention, he answered one of Sly's many questions with a statement: "I've ordered some mechs to return to the Ark; you're right, we shouldn't all be here while the ship isn't completely docked. We don't care about your glitches – any mech who judges you for your glitch will be dealt with and punished accordingly. I am completely serious in that we would like you, Slysight, and your gestalt, to join the Ark's crew. And not just because some of us have known Blitz in the past," he added in, cutting off that theory before it started.

"Yeah, how do you know the seeker?" a red minibot asked. All optics were on Prime – all but two pairs, which had yet to leave the gestalt.

"I can't believe it," Jazz murmured to Prowl, his voice hoarse. He was there, _right there_, and he didn't know them. After so long, after hoping and praying to Primus that he was still alive, here he was. And he didn't know who they were.

"I know, love," Prowl replied to his bonded, optics never leaving the young mech they were watching.

"How can he be in a gestalt? And with 'lil Blitz, of all mechs? How'd they meet up?"

"I don't know. But we shouldn't tell him yet. We need to let him get used to us first, get to know us. Then we can see about telling him."

"But it's been _so long_ and he's _right there!_ After all this, how can we just ignore it?" Jazz moaned softly, not wanting to stand here anymore. He wanted to run forward and pull the sparkling – no, young mech, as much as it hurt to admit it – into his arms and hug him and tell him that they loved him, that they've always loved him, that they'd missed him and that they were so, _so_ glad to see him.

Because right there, in front of Jazz and Prowl's optics, was a young mech who they'd almost given up hope on ever seeing again. Right there, he was a member of the gestalt. Right there, he was their sparkling.

* * *

**Oooh, which one is it?! Well, I know, but I'm not sharing for a long while to come. Like, not until we make it until the third timeline, which will be on Earth, right after the 2007 movie. That's a ways off, but hints will be dropped on the sparkling's identity. You'll just have to see if you can figure it out! The red minibot was Cliffjumper, so you know. Any ideas on who to put with Wheeljack, I'm still looking for someone. Please review!**


	6. The Hand That Feeds

**Ooh, this is a very long chapter for what I usually post for this story, and it's so soon after the last chapter. Be happy, people! Well, person, as I still have exactly one reviewer who I'm not forcing to review. Thanks much, you know who you are. I keep saying that the '07 timeline is far off, but at this rate, it may be sooner than I thought. That may be a good thing, because I'm really excited to write it. A lot of new faces (all canon, I assure) appear in this chapter, and the subject of Slysight's height is addressed. It's related to a widespread mistake that even Optimus Prime has made (see Chapter 2, you'll know what I mean). More of blitz's time on the Ark is mentioned, and hints (as well as false hints) are beginning to be dropped on who may be Prowl and Jazz's sparkling. Overall, it's another day on a soap opera. Enjoy****!**

**Breem - 8.3 Earth minutes - Equivalent to a Cybertronian minute**

**Joor - About 6.5 Earth hours - Cybertronian hour**

**Orn - About 13 Earth days - Cybertronian day**

**Deca-Orn - About 130 Earth days - 10 orns**

**Vorn - About 83 Earth years - Cybertronian year**

**Nano-klik - About half of an Earth second**

**_:: blah::_ - gestalt link**

**Blah - Com. link**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Transformers or any of its characters. I do own Blitz, the gestalt, and anyone else that's not canon. The lyrics to "The Hand That Feeds" belong to Nine Inch Nails, a song which I think really describe what the gestalt currently think of Prowl.**

* * *

"_**You're keeping in step in the line**_

_**Got your chin held high and you feel just fine**_

'_**Cause you do what you're told**_

_**But inside your heart it is black and it's hollow and it's cold"**_

_~ "The Hand That Feeds" – Nine Inch Nails_

The next orn found the gestalt back on the landing pad, staring up at the formidable form of the Ark with not a small amount of trepidation, Sly maybe more so than the others. After his little episode the previous orn, he was terrified to be around anybody but his family. Not only was he afraid of their reactions to seeing him again, but he was afraid that he'd glitch again in the presence of the newcomers. The fact that everyone on the Ark knew each other already and they were the newcomers made the thought of boarding the giant ship even more arduous. They would have backed out of the deal already if it wasn't for who was offering.

The Ark didn't take on many new mechs, especially not ones as young as the gestalt. Throw in the fact that they were certified glitches and you had a once in a lifetime deal. It was too good to pass up. Though they were all nervous about starting off anew with new mechs and situations, they all agreed that a change would be good. Blitz had joked that he'd miss tormenting Lightfire, but he was excited (not that he showed it) to see some of the mechs again, even though he barely remembered them.

After the gestalt had vacated the docking pad in favor of calming Slysight in one of their quarters, the question had been breached of how exactly Blitz knew at least some of the Ark's crew (while Prime had to give an abridged version of the same story to the Ark's crew). They already knew what little Blitz could remember from before _them_, so it didn't take them long to piece together that Blitz had, for a time, been raised on the Ark, and that the mech who'd originally appeared with the medic, Ratchet (who Sly just kept referring to as "the angry mech"), had taken care of him. Blitz said that he was an inventor named Wheeljack, and that if he had to describe him with two terms, they would be quirky and kind-sparked.

What had been hard for the "family" to grasp was that Blitz actually _trusted_ some of these mechs. Being that Optimus Prime was the leader of the Autobots, they would've trusted him, anyway, even Sly, if he wasn't glitching. But still, he not only trusted the inventor and the angry mech, but he also trusted the suspicious black and whites AND the unknown mechs who'd tackled him.

He'd identified the mechs who'd tackled him as friends he'd had while aboard the Ark. Blitz hadn't actually known that he'd previously been on the Ark until he'd seen the ship and the mechs on it and put two and two together.

All he'd been able to recall was being on a very large ship where he'd been looked after by an inventor named Wheeljack who'd exploded things quite often, and when that happened he'd accompany Wheeljack to the medbay where a grouchy-but-kind medic named Ratchet would fix him up. Then he'd start griping at 'Jack and for some reason he didn't want Blitz to hear what he had to say, so he'd have someone, usually his bondmate Ironhide, the trigger-happy weapons specialist, take him to the rec. room for some energon. There he'd see a lot of mechs who he didn't know who he found to be a little scary, so more often than not he'd firmly attach himself to Ironhide's leg until he had deemed it safe.

He had friends that he played with there sometimes. There were the twins, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, the younger brothers of the paranoid security director, Red Alert. They were a few vorns older than him and were always pulling him along to help in playing pranks on different mechs. Blitz thought it was fun, but he would never have participated in the pranks on his own; he was too timid to be that devious, and he had too much of a moral compass not to feel a little bit shameful. Also, it was better when he had the twins to hide behind. They hadn't minded too much – in fact, they'd enjoyed being his protector, as it made them feel important. Not that Blitz needed much protecting, being on a base surrounded by soldiers, most of whom were very nice to him, but he was often terrified of mechs he didn't know well. But at least he was in the same boat as their other friend, Bluestreak.

Blue was older than Blitz, but younger than the twins. The young Praxian was raised by Prowl, the stern resident tactician and second in command, and his bonded Jazz, the fun-loving head of Special Ops and TIC; they were the black and whites that everyone found to be so suspicious, and even though Blitz knew them, none of the suspicions were alleviated.

Bluestreak had been more talkative and outgoing than Blitz, who could barely speak in his own right, but both were nervous around new or unknown mechs, whereas the twins never seemed to be afraid of anyone or anything. They looked after the two younger mechs, and the four became inseparable, almost like brothers. The four were almost always together, which many mechs found to be adorable.

The only other mech that Blitz remembered clearly enough to place a name to was, of course, the great Autobot leader and commander, Optimus Prime. He recalled Prime as being kind to him and the other younglings, even laughing and letting them off the hook when the twins got the bright idea to try to sneak into his office – not one of their brightest moments. Prime always spoke gently to them, and he never shouted or yelled when disciplining. This would be something that Blitz would come to appreciate more fully while he was with _them_.

Blitz's reunion with all of his past acquaintances had been cut short by Sly's break down, but he was okay with it; apparently, if all went well, he'd have a lot of time to catch up with everyone. Besides, Sunstreaker's attempt at looking like he _wasn't_ just involved in a cuddle pile on the floor had been worth it. Many things may've changed, but Sunstreaker's vanity would forever stay the same.

_:: So, we ready for this? ::_ Crash, once again, pulled the ebony seeker from his musings. That happened a lot.

_:: I'm not sure about this, guys. Are we absolutely sure that they're not lying to us? ::_ Sly asked nervously. It had taken a lot of convincing to get him to take the deal, especially when they'd heard that it entailed allowing some of the scientists to look them over. They apparently found the gestalt to be extremely interesting. Why, they couldn't even fathom. They'd noticed at least two gestalts in the Ark's ranks, and they were appeared to be combiners, too. They're gestalt was pretty defective, so they couldn't understand what would compel a scientist to study them, but it was part of the deal, so they just chose to go with it.

_:: I agree with Kitten. I still don't trust them, especially the black and whites. I'm telling you, they weren't just staring to gawk at Blitz. They were looking at the rest of us more. I want you all to do your best to steer clear of them, got it? Until we know what their real game is, tread lightly and don't be alone with them, even if it means running out of the room like the fraggers that you are. ::_ Phantom was always one for blatancy. He'd kept up a continued front against the black and whites (he refused to call them by their designations), and nothing could assuage his suspicions.

_:: Yes, _Creator_, ::_ Crash mocked him, chuckling lightly over the bond. He thought that the suspicions were irrational and unfounded, but if it made Van and Sly feel better, he'd comply.

_:: No, if anyone was the creator here, it would be me, ::_ Shaders said with what sounded to no small amount of a pout in his voice, even if it was a mental voice. _:: I have to look after all of you, all the time, because apparently you can't take care of yourselves properly without me. ::_

_:: We would be ever so lost without you, ::_ Blitz shot back in an innocent but snarky tone.

_:: Shut it, ::_ Nightshade responded, though there was no heat in his words. They all teased each other like this all the time.

"Are you all prepared?" asked the black and white with the doorwings, Prowl. He may have been the SIC, and it may have been his job to get them settled on the Ark, but it didn't mean that they had to like it. Phantom suddenly surfaced, probably due to his strong dislike for the tactician.

"Yes," he bit out, venom clear in his voice. The other mech looked taken aback, which was odd for how emotionless he'd seemed. Van, quickly remembering that his optics would be a different color than before, tried to look away, but he knew that he'd been caught.

"It's okay," the tactician said softly, another shock for the gestalt. "I've read all of your files. They may not have your names, but they have your glitches, and the commander here had already made us aware of the rest of your glitches," he nodded at the rest of the gestalt. "The only one left was you, which means that you're the one with dual personalities. You may want to alert the rest of the crew to this so they don't find your mood swings odd, but it's your choice."

He turned to leave, but then turned back and asked, "Your designation's Phantom, isn't it? That's why you called him Phantom before, but then corrected yourself later and said it was Nightshade." He looked at Slysight as he said this. Turning to Van once again, he stated, "You're Phantom, the alternate personality, and Nightshade, the gestalt's leader, is the dominant personality, correct? And you have violet optics, while Nightshade's are blue. Am I mistaken?" Grudgingly, Phantom shook his head. He then sent another message to the gestalt enforcing his previous statement not to trust the black and whites before subsiding as Night came back, looking horribly embarrassed.

"Sorry about that, sir," he muttered, optics averted to keep from having to face his new superior.

"It's not a problem," Prowl replied, "But you may want to tell your other personality that his insubordination will not always be accepted so well by others, especially those who aren't aware of your condition."

Nightshade took immediate offence to Phantom being referred to as a "condition". He may have been a violent fragger who was annoying as all pit at times, but he was Night's closest friend, and he couldn't just allow such talk.

"He can hear you sir, at all times," he said stonily, but not disrespectfully, "Just because he's subdued doesn't mean he can't hear what's being said. Also, sir, I'd like to request that you no longer refer to him as a 'condition' or anything of the like. That may be what he is in a scientific manner, but he is not only a part of me, but his own person. Anyone here can attest to that." He nodded at his gestalt around him. "If you or others don't accept him as his own personality and being, then we're going to be having some problems, and not just from Phantom." The rest of the gestalt nodded in agreement to this.

"I see," Prowl replied, his voice neutral, "Very well. Follow me." With that, he turned and entered the Ark, the gestalt following after at a lazy pace, their belongings already having been moved aboard. When they reached the Ark's entranced, they turned around one last time and gazed at the base that had been their home and their prison for more vorns than they cared to remember. Prowl, realizing that he was no longer being followed, turned to watch them, but remained silent.

_:: Think we're going to miss this place? ::_ Blitz asked over their link. Everyone else pondered for a moment before answering simultaneously, "No."

Prowl wasn't the only mech who stared at them for answering a question that, to those who weren't of the gestalt, hadn't been posed in the first place. Most just eyed them, some of the less-kind mechs thinking that it was just a bunch of lunatic glitches showing their true colors. Prowl, however, found it to be interesting, and he wondered if they shared the same sort of bond that the Protectobots and Aerialbots did. It would explain a lot.

"Are you quite done yet?" Prowl asked bemusedly, but not unkindly. He received nods all around, and they continued on into the bowels of the Ark. Prowl took them to his office while the great ship began to depart from the dock of the glitch base. The tactician could have sworn he heard the gestalt give out cheers and hand slaps when the ship lifted off, but they were perfectly composed when he turned to face them again. Gestalts were such odd creatures.

"I think it would be best of we determined each of your duties here on the Ark," the black and white began. "Your duties will be based on your previous training and specializations. If you have any problems with your assignments, feel free to discuss them with me." With that, he passed them each a datapad detailing each of their new jobs, as well as containing their schedules, room assignments, access codes, and maps of the Ark, as well as rules and regulations that were to be followed, and a code of conduct. Prowl went over each of these subjects.

"You will see each of you duties have been given individually. Crash, being that you have medical training, you will be working under Ratchet in the medbay." Anyone with optics (and without them) could see that Crash wasn't excited to work with the Autobot CMO. Ratchet was probably just as excited. Crash decided to voice this.

"Um, sir? Yeah, uh, me an' the CMO don't really get along all that well, an' I'm not sure that puttin' the two of us together is such a good idea."

Prowl wasn't at all sympathetic to his plight. "There will be many mechs that all of you will have to work with, and there's bound to be some that you don't get along with. However, we're not going to reassign you because you and Ratchet got off on the wrong foot. We're asking you to be coworkers, not best friends. I'm sure you can both be professional about it." Crash nodded, not seeing much more that he could say after that.

Turning to Blitz, Prowl continued. "Blitz, you will be working closely with the Aerialbots, another Autobot gestalt, made completely of fliers. They are our main force in aerial combat, aside from a few other fliers such as Powerglide and Skyfire. I believe that all of you can help each other in forming flight patterns and tactics, and they could use a more experienced flier's help, even if they won't admit it." Blitz didn't say anything to disagree with this, but the feelings of disbelief coming from him were palpable.

"With all due respect, sir, you may have a problem with that arrangement," Nightshade said. "When we said that Blitz doesn't talk, we weren't kidding. He doesn't talk aloud, ever. It's his choice, and he doesn't care what punishments he receives for it; he won't speak to them, though, no matter what you do. He won't speak to anyone. There is a reason for it, one that none of us will tell you without his express permission, which we do not have."

"I see," the tactician said, stoic as ever, "Will he be willing to communicate through a data pad?"

Resisting the urge to roll his optics, Crash nodded at Blitz and said, "Ask him. He may not speak, but he can hear better than most mechs on this ship."

Looking to Blitz, Prowl received a nod. "Very well then, I suppose that matter is settled, then." He then moved on to Slysight.

"I believe you're the one who's received so many recommendations to Special Ops." Sly felt his faceplates heat up. If he could have blushed, he would've been at that moment. He nodded bashfully.

"After so many recommendations, Jazz jumped on the idea of placing you in his unit." This made Sly uncomfortable, and he shifted from pede to pede. Great, now they were going to place him with one of the suspicious black and whites. He could feel Van railing against the idea though the link, but chose to ignore him for the moment. "You'll need to report to him for further information, as Special Ops doesn't tell much to anyone else, so I don't know what exactly you'll be doing. You can find him in his office, but in the very likely chance that he's not there, it's best to check my office or the rec. room."

Without prelude, he moved on to Nightshade. 'Shade wasn't expecting a specialized job, as he had never before had one on another base. He didn't have many "special talents", other than that he often got called in to repair faulty wiring in different systems on the base. He was a novice electrician – not the sort of job that the elite needed.

"You have been placed on a shift in the security hub as well as patrol shifts. Your schedule will tell you who you will be partnered with." Well, this was what he'd been expecting, but Prowl didn't have to be so blunt about it. "Also, you have some shifts in the lab assisting Wheeljack. Apparently you have some previous experience in repairs and electrical wiring, while most mechs assigned as assistants do not." That wasn't as bad.

Looking at the gestalt as a whole, the SIC stated, "Your room assignments are on the data pads. I'm aware that you're all used to being paired together, but we didn't have enough free rooms for that, so you'll all be placed in rooms with one other roommate. Before you ask, none of them were willing to move to a different room so you could stay together, so unless someone is willing to switch with you, they're your new roommates. You have a map of the Ark; when in need, ask someone for directions. Most of them will give you accurate directions, but you may not want to ask the twins or the minibots."

That wasn't exactly a comforting statement, and they were still reeling at the idea of not being placed together. They'd heard that gestalts on the Ark got rooms together, sometimes with five to a room. There were only four of them! They'd cram if necessary; they just wanted to be together.

"Wait, back to the room thing," Crash began without prelude. It wasn't even himself that he was worried about, it was Blitz and Sly. Sly would be terrified of a new roommate; he could feel the horror creeping across the bond. As for Blitz, well, a roommate wouldn't understand him. He'd been Blitz's roommate for more bases than he could recall. It was hard to imagine not rooming with the seeker. "All the other gestalts share rooms, presumably because it's practical and 'cause they want to stay together, 'cause of their bonds. Did it ever occur to ya that we might have the same situation?" That was Crash, all accusation and no tact.

"I'm sorry, but your rooms are non-negotiable. Because of your different duties, we thought it would be best if you didn't share rooms, to encourage you to get to know other mechs that you'd be working with." None of the gestalt liked that answer at all, but Prowl's tone told them that this was not up for negotiation.

"Now, if you'd like, you may go see your new rooms; your belongings have already been moved to the appropriate rooms. Your duties begin first thing next orn. You are to report to the appropriate locations; follow your schedule to know when." With that, they could tell that the meeting was over.

Exiting the SIC's office, they stood in the hallway, trying to determine from their maps where they we to go.

"All right, who thinks that this arrangement sucks?" Crash asked. They all agreed immediately. They determined a plan of action, that they'd all go to each of their rooms and face their new roommates together. Crash joked that it would give the roommates a chance to get used to them, which they'd need to, as they all were used to hanging around each other's rooms, and they weren't going to let that change now.

The group headed off towards the closest rooms: Nightshade's new quarters. Referring to the datapad in his servo, 'Shade entered in the code. The doors opened with a whoosh, and they stepped inside.

There they found a predominantly blue mech looking at them with disdain. "It's bad enough hat they're giving me one roommate, but they didn't say that he was bringing a posse."

"I take that to mean that you're Tracks," Nightshade said, consulting his datapad once again.

"Yes, and I take that to mean that you're my new _roommate_." The way he said the word left nothing to the imagination on how he felt about getting a roommate. "Listen, this is how it's going to be: don't touch my things, keep to your berth and side of the room." He nodded towards the left half of the room. "Stay out of my way, and I'll pretend that you don't exit."

Now, Phantom had a lot of experience in ignoring taunts at his gestalt and himself (or Nightshade, more precisely), but he wasn't going to put up with this slag every day for Primus knew how long. He was going to end it now. Surging to the forefront of the shared CPU, he relished the shock in the sleek blue mech's optics when his own changed from a nice blue to a shocking red-tinged violet.

"Decepticon!" Tracks snarled after getting over his surprise. Van chuckled darkly.

"Not quite, but let's just say that if you mess with me, my counterpart, or my gestalt, you're going to find that the differences between myself and a Decepticon begin to lessen." With that, Nightshade appeared again, embarrassedly having to explain about his glitch and pleading with Tracks not to tell others.

Unbeknownst to any of them, that one, half-veiled threat would be the beginning of a lasting friendship. It earned respect from Tracks, and he and Phantom began an unusual friendship based on their distrust and dislike for many of the Ark's members. This friendship ended up spreading on to Nightshade as well, and with time, the gestalt. But for now, Tracks wouldn't be such an aft to his new roommate, and the two (or three, depending on how you looked at it) were civil to each other.

The gestalt moved on to the next set of quarters, these ones belonging to Sly and his new roommate. Upon reaching the quarters, they realized a disconcerting fact. It seemed that most of the surrounding quarters belonged to minibots, and one would assume that Slysight's new roommate was also a minibot. Crash was the one to break it to him.

"Uh, Sly? I think that the mechs here think you're a, er... Well, they think you're a minibot." If Sly had been able to blush, he would have been a spectacular shade of crimson. As it was, he buried his face in his hands while Crash patted his back.

"That is so embarrassing!" He half-wailed, the sound of his voice muffled by his servos. "I'm not _that_ short!"

Not making things better, Crash pointed out, "And ya know what that mech Prowl said: no changing the rooms!" This caused an increased wailing. The door they were standing in front of, Sly's new room, slid open to reveal the red minibot they'd seen the previous orn, a scowl adorning his features along with a glare directed at them.

"What the slag do you think you're doing?!" Well wasn't he a ball of sunshine?

"I'm not that short!" Slysight suddenly blurted much to the red mech's confusion.

"What the pit does your height or lack thereof have to do with you making such a racket in front of my room?!"

"Well, that's just it," Nightshade explained. "Apparently the quarters around here are assigned to minibots."

"Uh-huh," the minibot said slowly, as if talking to a particularly slow sparkling.

"And he's your new roommate," 'Shade supplied, hoping that the minibot would catch his drift. He didn't; his only reaction was to look at Sly appraisingly before looking at the gestalt again, obviously not understanding what they meant.

"He's not a minibot," Night said exasperatedly, getting to the point. The red minibot looked back at Slysight, longer this time, before looking back to Nightshade.

"Are you sure?" he asked. The question would've been laughable if he hadn't been so drop-deactivated serious about it.

"Yes, I'm sure!" Sly shouted at him, startling the red mech. "Trust me, I'm not a minibot. I would know by now."

"It's true," Crash told him. "I'm his medic; he's definitely not a minibot." The red 'bot only grunted at them.

"The second in command told us that rooms can't be changed," Nightshade said slowly, hoping that the minibot would let them in. With another grunt, he stepped aside and allowed them into the quarters.

"I'm Cliffjumper," he said without prelude. The rest of the introductions were made, and that was that. Cliffjumper (or CJ, as they'd taken to calling him along their link) was almost as paranoid as Sly was, only without a glitch to blame it on. It was a match made by Primus, full of the two staring distrustfully at other mechs while in the rec. room and discussing who they thought might be a double agent working for the Decepticons. And everyone said that Red Alert was paranoid.

The next two meetings weren't as eventful. Blitz was placed with Bluestreak, so Crash's fear of him not getting along with his roommate were null and void. Crash's roommate was a huge mech named Trailbreaker, who gave them the nicest reception yet (aside from Blue, who'd tackled Blitz in another hug).

The gestalt decided to see the rec. room, considering it seemed to be where everyone hung out when they weren't in their rooms or on duty. They didn't expect that they'd have to play twenty questions with some nosy scientists.

* * *

**Next chapter will have more on the gestalt and why they're so "curious" (Perceptor's word). Tracks, as you can see, will get nicer, as will Cliffjumper. And if you've yet noticed the distinct lack of Bumblebee, there's a big reason for that which will be addressed in the '07 timeline. For the purposes of the story, he can't show up yet, no matter how badly I want to put him in. Sorry if Jazz or Prowl seems OOC, I tried not to make them that way but I think it happened anyway. Please review!**


	7. Far From Over

**Another quick chapter, just because I wanted to. It's not exactly short, so that's a plus. This gives more on the gestalt's forming, as well as a hint of romance – only a hint, because I can't write romance worth crap. More hints, some false, on the sparkling's identity, and some not-so-evil Decepticons. Enjoy!**

**Breem - 8.3 Earth minutes - Equivalent to a Cybertronian minute**

**Joor - About 6.5 Earth hours - Cybertronian hour**

**Orn - About 13 Earth days - Cybertronian day**

**Deca-Orn - About 130 Earth days - 10 orns**

**Vorn - About 83 Earth years - Cybertronian year**

**Nano-klik - About half of an Earth second**

**_:: blah::_ - gestalt link**

**Blah - Com. link**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Transformers or any of its characters. I do own Blitz, the gestalt, and anyone else that's not canon. The lyrics to "Far From Over" belong to Rev Theory.**

* * *

"_**Wait, there was a brighter day**_

_**Where I could view the world without the sorrows that I've known**_

_**(What if I could feel)**_

_**Now it's a different place**_

_**Memories fade away without a trace but there's a shadow**_

_**A shadow I can't feel"**_

_~ "Far From Over" – Rev Theory_

Upon entering the rec. room, the gestalt was immediately caught up in a verbal assault, courtesy of the resident Ark scientists. Crowded around them were three mechs that they'd been introduced to earlier: Perceptor, Skyfire, and Wheeljack, the last of which often counted as a scientist even though he was an inventor.

"If Blitz was originally on the Ark, that means that none of you were created as a gestalt. Who formed you into a gestalt?" This question came from Perceptor.

"How can you all be different models and still be a gestalt? It looks physically impossible for you to be a combiner team." Skyfire shot off this one. His question spurned Wheeljack's.

"Are you a combiner team? I've never heard of a non-combiner gestalt, at least not with so many members."

These statements and questions were all made almost simultaneously, so it came out sounding something like this: "If Blitz – be different – Ark – still be – created as – physically impossible – formed – combiner – gestalt – combiner team?" Needless to say, the gestalt was staring at the trio, dumbfounded.

"Um, wha'?" That oh-so-intelligent response was all that Crash could think to say, and it said it all.

"Slow down, guys, you're going to fry their processors if you keep that up!" called an amused voice from a nearby table. Glancing toward the voice, Nightshade, a closet romantic, could have sworn he felt his spark miss a pulse.

At the table was a boxy, dark green mech with cheery optics and an easygoing smile that stalled his CPU. The mech screamed confidence and radiated good humor. 'Shade was immediately taken by him.

Had Nightshade been anyone else, he would've been smitten. But because he was himself, being smitten was a problem. Having a relationship was a problem. Why, one might ask? Because for a mech to love Night, they also had to love his glitch. Phantom wasn't exactly personable.

If Nightshade liked a mech, he first had to pass them by Phantom, who had previously told him, "I don't want to surface while you're making out with some creeper I hate. We both have to like them." He couldn't really argue to that; it was only fair. Of course, even if both of them gave someone the okay, they then had to hope that the mech not only liked them back, but could tolerate both of them. That wasn't something that had happened yet.

_:: Ooh, someone's got a cru-ush! ::_ Phantom sang in an oddly out-of-character way. He had peeked into his alternate's thoughts and seen him thinking about the handsome green mech. One thing that the glitch personality would never admit was that he'd only wanted to look in to Shaders' thoughts after he himself had seen the green mech. Not that he'd admit it easily, but he liked him as much as the dominant personality did.

_:: Shut up! You do too! I heard your little inner-debate; you think louder than you know. ::_ Slag, well now it was out.

_:: What are we going to do about it? ::_ Phantom was not one to sit idly. When he wanted something done, he would slagging well make sure it got done, and that it was done quickly. Things were the same when he wanted some_one_.

Sadly for Van, Shaders was the exact opposite. Due to what he viewed as the imminent rejection, he didn't even bother putting himself out there. He was known by most as the kind but quiet, introverted leader of the gestalt. Even if he liked someone, he was too shy to act on it, and he never encouraged any attentions. Crash, much to the leader's disdain, liked to joke that he needed a very outgoing mech to follow him around for a couple vorns and then maybe, just _maybe_, he'd actually respond to their attentions.

Before 'Shade could answer his counterpart, he realized that everyone was staring at him, and better yet, the green mech had noticed his staring. He had a small smirk adorning his faceplates and he was watching the black mech with rapt attention. Nightshade did his best to ignore him and skimmed his gestalt's thoughts for why everyone was watching him. He then answered them that yes, they could tell the scientists about their gestalt and how it was formed. Looking away, he listened to the well-known tale of the gestalt's conception, ignoring the green mech's optics fervently.

Hound slumped in his chair feeling temporarily defeated. The hot new mech was ignoring him! That was upsetting. He'd noticed the mech's optics on him earlier and had returned his stare appreciatively. The mech – Nightshade, he remembered the name to be – was tall, maybe a little bit taller than himself. Sleek, shiny, and black, he was quite attractive in Hound's optics. Plus the way he looked away shyly when he noticed Hound's gaze was absolutely adorable.

Considering the handsome new mech was no longer watching him (sadly), he decided to listen to the answers that the rest of the gestalt was giving the scientists. Apparently, after the onslaught of questions, they'd gotten them to go single file. They took out Skyfire and Wheeljack's questions with one answer.

"We don't have similar models or appearances because we're not a combiner gestalt," Crash said. This was a bombshell to anyone in the rec. room, including Prime, who had just wandered in unnoticed to get a cube of energon. Crash had also notably lost his bad grammar and his accent as he spoke, apparently covering it up as he talked. That explained how he was taken seriously enough to be a medic with his speech patterns and his somewhat questionable vocabulary.

"Then how are you still a gestalt?" Skyfire asked as a follow-up question.

"We're a gestalt in mind," the field medic explained. "We can pop into each other's heads at any given time, and we have a link that we talk to each other through. That's how we communicate with Blitz." He then turned towards Perceptor and answered his question.

"As for who formed us into a gestalt, we were part of an underground, top-secret experiment on gestalts. Completely illegal slag, it was." Even though he was using full words, he still employed the use of his favorite vocabulary. "Have you ever heard of MICS?"

"MICS?" Perceptor repeated, perplexed. "Are you referring to the organization 'Mechs for the Improvement of the Cybertronian Species'?"

"The very same," Crash said, sighing loudly. "Well, everyone sit down, this will take a little while. You too, OP, I know you're standing there. Sly knew you were coming the moment you stepped into the hall."

Prime, slightly embarrassed, complied with everybody else, and moved to find a place to seat. Whilst looking for a place to sit, he noticed how the usually friendly Hound seemed to hold off anyone trying to sit in the empty seat to his right (Mirage was to his left, per usual) until Nightshade passed by. He then tapped the black mech's arm to get his attention and gestured to the seat next to him. Optimus had to keep from making an out of character remark about how very subtle Hound _wasn't_ being. Nightshade sat nervously on the edge of the seat, as if he was afraid that he'd be burned if he got too close to Hound. The green mech gave him a winning smile and said that he promised not to bite. Nightshade looked down shyly, but sat more fully in the chair. This made the Prime grin; and here he'd been worried that the gestalt wouldn't be accepted by the Ark. It looked like some of the residents of the Ark had crushes on certain members of the gestalt – Hound wasn't the only one.

Mirage was staring at the new field medic intensely, all of his attention focused solely on him. Crash was oblivious, apparently, as he was too busy scowling at other mechs who were still participating in the seat scramble. Prime noticed a moment too late that the very same scowl was now being focused on him.

"OP, aft in seat _now_, before I make you my 'little buddy' for the rest of this long, droning explanation!" Optimus wasn't the only one who was surprised by the silver mech's sheer audacity. Leaning against a wall behind Crash, Blitz's shoulders shook with silent mirth. "Yo, OP, optics on me, not my current little buddy, aye?"

"What's a 'little buddy'?" a quiet, cultured voice asked. Optimus didn't need to turn to know that it was Mirage, probably willing to do anything to gain the oblivious silver mech's attention.

"Glad you asked, nameless Towers mech!" Crash said jovially.

"Mirage," the blue and white Special Ops mech supplied.

"Nameless Towers mech now known as Mirage," Crash corrected himself, giving the spy a charmingly crooked half-grin that peaked out from under the edge of his visor. "My 'little buddy' is not only my personal assistant for my speech, and like Blitzy here, has to be my live example more often than not, but if my little buddy happens to be a case of a mech not listening or talking while I am, then they get to be my 'special' little buddy. That entails sitting on the floor next to me while I talk and occasionally morally degrade them. OP might be tough to morally degrade, but I'm always up for a challenge." He sent a pointed look at the Autobot leader that could be seen through his gray visor.

"I repeat, aft in seat, OP, unless you'd like to join me?" After knowing Ratchet for so long, Optimus Prime knew when to back down and get out of a medic's way. This was one of those moments. He scurried (as much as a giant robot can scurry while maintaining his dignity) to a nearby seat and sat quickly, for some odd reason trying to appease the apparently volatile medic. Why was it that all medics were so volatile? It was odd; he'd have to ask Perceptor later.

"So, where were we?" the medic asked, having forgotten what he was talking about in the first place. What could he say; he had a hot mech with a nice voice sitting in what counted as the "front row". Anyone would be distracted.

"You were just about to explain to us how you were all participants in illegal gestalt experiments," Perceptor supplied maybe a little too eagerly.

"Wrong, not participants," Crash chided. "Trust me, no one would willingly participate in those..._experiments_. We were prisoners, and we were sparklings – it wasn't like we could stop them. They looked for sparklings with glitches who had no family, nobody to miss them when they were gone. You see, they wanted to create a non-combiner gestalt, one that would only be gestalt in mind. However, most gestalts can't survive without combining for too long, so they had to make a gestalt that, in a way, was perpetually combined, while still having separate minds in separate bodies. Not being able to physically combine, even in a gestalt like ours that could never combine, would drive most mechs insane. So how do you keep a couple of mechs from going insane in a situation that would surely make them so? Get a couple of glitches; nobody will notice the difference in the level of insanity."

Crash had now gathered quite the audience, as mechs in the room told their friends to come and listen, or set up their com. units so that their on-duty friends could hear. Even Ratchet was leaning against a side wall, watching raptly with a deceptively uncaring look on his faceplates.

"Now I know what some of you are thinking – Blitz didn't have a glitch when he was last on the Ark. Well, he did, but it was so fragging buried that not even our great medic Ratchet would see it, especially in its dormant state. I only even know that because I stole all the files I could when we got out of that place. Without them, I wouldn't have realized. Blitz was picked up in the first place by these guys, though, because he had the _potential_ to be glitchy. They saw this, and they, being the despotic slaggers that they are, encouraged the glitch. They put him in circumstances that would set if off, they starved him and beat him – then again, they did that to all of us, so that wasn't much of a difference."

"Who did this?" Ratchet hissed from his place against the wall, optics murderous. He could only be heard speaking so quietly because the room was dead quiet, everyone paying strict attention to the young field medic.

"For those of you that weren't here at the start of this little speech, and those of you that were, it was MICS. Yes, I mean MICS as in Mechs for the Improvement of the Cybertronian Species – that was quite the misnomer, considering there were plenty of femmes involved. Anyways, for those of you who don't know what MICS is, it was a radical group that believed in any means necessary to encourage Cybertronian growth and evolution, both physical and mental. It started as a simple movement to get more mechs to use their CPUs to their fullest, to get them to question the universe around them. It expanded though, and some radicals took over as it did. They believed that, for civilization to improve, some sacrifice was necessary, and if those sacrifices included glitched sparklings without families, so be it. It was for the betterment of all of Cybertron, and no one would miss a few crazy orphans."

In the back of the room, Jazz and Prowl shared a look, wondering if _their_ sparkling thought he had been abandoned, or if that was just Crash talking.

"They found the four of us and through methods that I'm still trying to figure out the exact mechanics of – I've got some of the files on it, if anyone wants to see – they connected our minds. So now we're tied together, and that's that." He spoke as if that was the end of his speech.

Immediately mechs started talking at once, asking him questions. The young medic gave them all a glare that had them all shutting up at once, and had Ratchet grinning fondly. Maybe this youngling wasn't so bad, if he already had the patented medic glare down pat. Primus knew First Aid couldn't glare at someone, and Swoop just thought the glaring was amusing.

Crash began letting the mechs ask questions one at a time, after raising their hands of course. Ratchet found it highly amusing; never before had he seen the tough mechs of the Ark acting like a bunch of eager younglings with Crash as their instructor, some of the mechs trying to raise their hands higher than the others to get his attention first. Next to Ratchet, Ironhide was snickering, thinking along the same lines.

"Where did they keep you guys?" Sideswipe asked.

"Well, some sort of cage-like thing, right guys?" He looked at the gestalt; Nightshade agreed verbally, Sly shuddered, and Blitz gave a single, curt nod.

"It was always dark; when it wasn't, you knew that meant that you were in for it. Light always meant that _they_ were there, and they were never nice or gentle. In fact, we used to get beaten because they were bored. They always had some monitoring equipment on; I don't know what any of it looked like because when we could see, we were too busy trying not to get killed."

"How did you get out?" a mech with wings, presumably one of the Aerialbots, asked. Many other mechs nodded; that had been their question, too.

"Interesting thing, that. Most of you will not like the answer, so I'm going to say this now: We aren't Decepticon supporters, but they aren't all bad. We owe some of them our lives."

Voices erupted once again, shouts and insults with them. Shock was the main emotion.

Crash wouldn't stand for it. He let out an audio-bursting shriek, and after that got their attention, he yelled, accent returning, "If ya'll don't sit down an' shut up, I'm gonna weld ya upside down to a wall, reconfigure ya into some fun stuff that ya won't think is very fun, and then I'm gonna make a spirited attempt to feed ya'll yer own limbs while yer still usin' 'em. An' all the while I'm gonna be singin' random slag in yer audios, and if you've ever heard me sing, ya would know jus' why that's not such a nice thing."

Silence reigned once again. It was a Ratchet-worthy threat. The CMO was feeling oddly proud, not that he'd admit it. Crash's voice dropped the accent once again.

"Now, if you'd let me continue what I was saying before I was so _rudely_ interrupted, we were saved by some Decepticons – the Constructicons, to be specific. You see, they didn't much like the idea of any forced gestalts, especially not on sparklings. We were younglings when they came in and tore the place up. They found us, got us out, and they burned the place down, after probably killing everyone inside. We don't know, and frankly, after what they did to us, we don't really give a slag. May they rot in the Pit. Primus knows they would deserve it."

Ratchet wasn't the only one surprised to hear that the Seekers weren't the only 'Cons who didn't want younglings growing up on their side of the war.

"Why didn't you join the 'Cons, then?" another voice rang out, this one from some minibot.

"The Constructicons didn't want us involved in the Decepticons. They said it was no place for younglings, that it wasn't at all safe. They got us to a neutral base, gave us a few tips on how to stay alive, and they left us. Never saw them again. When we were old enough to be passable to get into the Autobots, we joined up."

Everyone seemed to digest this, and the questions finally ended. Sighing, Crash stretched a little (not noticing the stares, from Mirage in particular) and walked to the wall behind him, slinging his arm around Blitz's shoulder, minding the Seeker's wings.

"If that's all, we'll be goin' now." He nodded to the other gestalt members, and they stood together, ignoring the stares of the others as they exited. Some of those gazes were longing, such as Hound's and Mirage's, while others were scorning, or amused, or just plain confused.

As they walked down the corridor, heading nowhere in particular, they heard footsteps behind them. Turning as one, they saw Ratchet approaching swiftly.

"You," he said in lieu of greeting, optics on Crash. "Medbay. Now."

"I don't have to be in 'til next orn," the silver medic said cheerfully.

"Yeah?" the predominantly white medic asked rhetorically. "Well, that's what Prowl says. As your new boss, you go by what I say, and what _I_ say is that you are going to get your aft into that medbay now and show me what you can do. Got it?" With that, he stalked off towards said medbay. Noticing that he wasn't being followed, he shouted, "That means now, you idiot!" not bothering to turn or stop walking.

Crash found the entire situation funny, so to humor the cranky CMO, he followed, giving a jaunty, somewhat crooked salute to his gestalt. The others sighed and shook their heads in mock despair, before going off to find peace somewhere else – apparently they weren't going to find it in the rec. room.

* * *

**If you couldn't tell, the MICS are "**_**them**_**" that the gestalt referred to in previous chapters. I imagined Hound with Nightshade and Mirage with Crash from the beginning. If you have any pairing ideas, gestalt involvement in them or not, feel free to tell me! I love requests. Also, there's a new poll on my profile on who you think Jazz and Prowl's sparkling is; please vote, or tell me in a review. The idea of illegal experiments being done on glitches was inspired by _outerelf's _story Replacement. As always, please review!**


	8. Pinch Me

**Wow this is long, like almost 7,000 words long, not including the note. It's longer than I intended, but that's okay, because I should now only have one more chapter before the '07 timeline! Woot! I'm excited, can you tell? ;) In this fic, for the purpose of the story, all gestalts and teams exist pre-Earth, even the ones that were originally created on Earth. That means that the Aerialbots, Protectobots, Dinobots, Combaticons, and Stunticons all already exist. Now, what happens in this chapter...well, Crash drives Ratchet crazy and tells the story of **_**why**_** he sings in the medbay, Blitz has **_**fun**_** (you read that right), Nightshade almost cries, and Sly runs for his life (sorta).**

**Breem - 8.3 Earth minutes - Equivalent to a Cybertronian minute**

**Joor - About 6.5 Earth hours - Cybertronian hour**

**Orn - About 13 Earth days - Cybertronian day**

**Deca-Orn - About 130 Earth days - 10 orns**

**Vorn - About 83 Earth years - Cybertronian year**

**Nano-klik - About half of an Earth second**

_**:: blah::**_** - gestalt link**

**Blah - Com. link**

_Blah_ **– Thoughts**

_**Flare:**_** You aren't the only one to suggest Blitz and Sideswipe (or both twins), and I'd always imagined them together but I wasn't sure what the readers would think. I think I'm going to go with that pairing. Red Alert and Slysight? Interesting, I never even thought of them. I actually planned to have Red with Inferno; I just never got around to mentioning it. I'll think that one over, though there is a huge age difference between them (even in TF standards), but they would be cute together. We'll have to see if I can use my personal crack pairing for Sly (it is total crack). If not, then maybe he'll be with Red.**

_**Kelly**_**: Thanks!**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Transformers or any of its characters. I do own Blitz, the gestalt, and anyone else that's not canon. The lyrics to "Pinch Me" belong to the Barenaked Ladies (no they aren't as pervy as the name implies).**

* * *

"_**I could leave but I'll just stay  
All my stuff's here anyway"**_

_~ "Pinch Me" – Barenaked Ladies_

"All right, youngling, what's the golden policy that all medics stand by, regardless of faction?" Ratchet decided that this was the easiest question to start with.

"When in doubt, cut it off," Crash recited innocently, though his visor hid the look of amusement in his optics from view.

"When in – what the slag?! Why in the _Pits_ would you EVER think that THAT was an acceptable policy of _any_ kind?!"

"Mech, that's like my motto as a medic. It hasn't failed me yet!" Crash knew he sounded way too happy about this, but he didn't care. He did live by that rule, and it had worked so far.

"What do you mean, it hasn't failed you yet?! You mean that you've actually employed that 'policy' before?!" Ratchet just couldn't believe what he was hearing. He was tempted to run some scans on himself to make sure he wasn't mishearing things. He was even more tempted to run some scans on the young supposedly-certified medic in front of him. In fact, he decided he was going to subject Crash to a series of scans anyway, whether he needed it or not.

"O' course I have! Think about it – if you can't fix someone's arm, cut it off an' ya don't have a problem anymore. Can't fix their leg, cut if off, problem solved. You can then replace the limb later, without worryin' 'bout somethin' happenin' in the interim. It's pretty fool-proof."

"With the fool being you," Ratchet grumbled, rubbing the sides of his helm in frustration. "What happens if someone gets damage to their processor? Would you cut that out too?"

"Well, actually, I'm pretty good with processor problems an' all, bein' that I deal with glitches so often, so chances are I wouldn't ever get into a situation where cuttin' somethin' outta there would be necessary."

The CMO groaned and barely resisted the urge to smash his face into the wall a few times. "Of COURSE you just HAPPEN to be good with processors! I'm trying to teach you a lesson here, youngling, and you just HAVE to find a way to refute everything I say!"

"Yep! Wouldn't be me if I didn't!" the silver mech answered jovially. He paused thoughtfully, and then asked, "Hey, did anyone ever tell ya that ya talk like Lightfire?"

"Who?" Ratchet didn't even bother to attempt at veiling the annoyance and frustration in his voice.

"My old base commander, Lightfire. Real shouty mech, he was. His main settin' was 'screaming', and when he wanted to make a point, he screamed louder. Blitzy got such a kick outta workin' him up. He knew just how to piss 'Fire off in under a breem; had it down to a science."

"All right, I'm going to ignore the fact that you just compared me to a useless suck-up in favor of asking, how did Blitz 'piss off' Lightfire if he doesn't talk?" Ratchet decided that, though he wanted to go off on a rant about why he wasn't like that pitiful slagger Lightfire, he was more interested in getting more information about why Blitz was the way he was.

"By not talkin'!" Crash chuckled. "'Fire talkin' to Blitz was more like 'Fire talkin' _at_ Blitz, and a dead mech responds more than Blitzy does, as morbid as that sounds. Fact that Blitzy likes to test authority don't help much."

"Wait, _Blitz_ likes to test authority? The same Blitz who used to feel guilty every time the twins played a prank and he knew about it without telling anyone, even when he didn't participate? The same Blitz who wouldn't walk into the rec. room without being firmly attached to someone's leg, even though he knew everyone there? Are we talking about the same Seeker here?"

"Sure are. I 'sume yer referrin' to when Blitzy was a lil' sparklin' here on the Ark. Not much I can say to that, but yeah, I know he used to be a lil' more straight-laced than he is now. Heh, Shaders blames me for corruptin' him an' Sly. Really, I think he just changed with the times, adapted to the situation like the rest of us. After bein' locked up for so long, he kinda came to hate all authority. He was fine with most of our commanders, but somethin' 'bout ol' 'Fire just set him off. Frankly, I'm kinda happy he took a shine to terrorizin' 'Fire."

"Why?" Ratchet was almost afraid to hear the answer; it probably had something to do with encouraging others to be more idiotic like him. Ratchet already had more than a few reservations about having Crash working in his medbay.

"It gave him somethin' to do, put that light back in his optics. Spendin' time tryin' to think up ways to drive 'Fire crazy seemed to almost bring him back to life, made him more like his old self. For a while there it was like we didn't even know him. He was real quiet – over the link, I mean – and he was just kind of...there, ya know? Like he was goin' through the motions, but no one was home. That's where he got his depression diagnosis. What ol' 'Fire didn't know was that the depression seemed to leave soon as Blitzy started tormentin' him. He had fun with it, and he was bein' his old devious self again. We weren't gonna stop him or take away his happiness. We were just too happy to see him like he used to be, to see him be happy."

Crash finished with a small, fond smile adorning his faceplates, and in that moment Ratchet decided to reevaluate his view of the young medic. But he was still going to put him through a whole slew of annoying scans. As Crash had said, he wouldn't be himself if he didn't.

* * *

_Next orn_

The Aerialbots stared.

Blitz stared back.

They stared some more.

Blitz didn't even twitch.

The staring contest continued for a while. What had instigated it, no one was sure. All they knew was that Blitz was apparently supposed to work with them, and from how Prowl worded things, he obviously thought that Blitz was a better flier than the Aerialbots. This greatly offended some of the Aerialbots (especially those by the name of Slingshot), and so they'd decided to watch the stoic Seeker and wait for him to make the first move.

The only problem with that idea was that Blitz wouldn't ever make the first move. It wasn't because he was being cautious like Sly would be, or because he was just _that_ good at planning his attacks and letting the other go first to see what they'd do, it was more that Blitz just couldn't bring himself to _care_. Just a little bit of his sociopathic personality coming to play. If it didn't directly affect his gestalt or himself, then he could care less.

Moving towards a desk in the Aerialbots common room (where he'd been told to meet them), Blitz jumped up on the surface and settled himself in, not giving a flying leap what the Aerialbots thought.

In fact, he fell into a state of half-recharge, conscious enough to know what was going on around him, but unconsciousness enough that he barely knew what was being said to him. He did this a lot during speeches, especially when Lightfire was around. Another perk of never taking off his mask. Considering 'Shade wasn't here to force him to stop zoning out and make him pay attention, he was more than willing to go back to recharge. Really, they'd made him get up at a completely awful time.

"What's wrong with him?" Fireflight whispered to his brothers.

"I have no idea," Air Raid mumbled back to him.

"Is he recharging?" Skydive murmured incredulously, as the black seeker did, in fact, appear to be in recharge.

"If we're lucky, he's dead," Slingshot grumbled, ignoring the sharp looks he received from his brothers, Silverbolt in particular.

"We can hear his systems running, he's obviously not dead," Air Raid pointed out. Slingshot looked a little crestfallen at that. His brothers did their best to ignore that look, in favor of creeping closer to the seemingly unconscious mech on the desk.

They were all standing directly in front of him, invading his personal bubble, and still nothing. He was truly and honestly asleep. That was just odd.

"Why do you think he wears a mask?" Fireflight asked.

"Let's see," Slingshot said, reaching to remove the mask.

"Slingshot, no! We can't just completely disregard his privacy like that!" Silverbolt scolded his brother.

"C'mon, 'Bolt, I know you're curious too! We'll just have a quick peak, and we'll put it back. He'll never even know."

Silverbolt wasn't happy with the idea, but he knew there was no stopping his headstrong brother. Really, he wondered why they had to make _him _the leader of the Aerialbots. It's not like anyone listened to him! Besides, Slingshot was right; he really _did_ want to know why Blitz wore a mask.

Slingshot reached out once again, trying to find how the mask was attached. It appeared to be possible to detach, but for just a quick glance, they could slide it back so it rested on the Seeker's head, almost like how one lifted a welding mask. The Aerialbot lightly gripped the sides of the mask, and began to lift it slowly, as to not wake the black mech.

He could see the bottom edge of a silver chin, and then-

"ACK!"

Slingshot found his servo being wrenched away from the mask, his hand being held in a death grip as a black helm nodded forward, the movement returning the mask to its previous position. The now-obviously-awake mech glared at the Aerialbots. They couldn't see it, but oh, they could feel it.

They watched nervously as Blitz whipped a datapad from subspace (still holding Slingshot's hand in a painful grip), settled it on his lap, and quickly jotted down a message, before he thrust the datapad at them. The Aerialbots read it with growing trepidation.

_If you ever even THINK about doing that again, you won't have a chance to try a third time. Catch my drift?_

The fliers nodded numbly as Blitz slowly released Slingshot's arm, said 'bot rubbing his arm vigorously. Blitz wrote down something else and showed it to them.

_Now I believe I'm supposed to be showing you some flight maneuvers and helping you with your flying. I can't do that if 1) We're inside, 2) I've never seen you fly, and 3) None of you dumbafts felt you had anything better to do than stare at me, bore me into recharge, and then make a fragging pitifully obvious attempt to remove my mask. Conclusion: Get your sorry slagging afts outside and into the air before I _put _them there, savvy?_

The Aerialbots really couldn't think of an answer to that; they just complied, too shocked to speak. Who knew that the silent Seeker was a dirty-mouthed sarcastic cynic? Not them, that was for sure.

Once they were outside the Ark, they immediately took to the skies, not wanting to be "put" there. Even Silverbolt entered the air, albeit nervously, as he mentally chanted, _Don't look down, don't look down_.

The Aerialbots looked towards Blitz, who stood on the ground, watching them. He gestured irritably for them to fly, obviously wanting to see if they could do anything more than hover-while-gawking; that was all he'd seen so far, and it was a skill that seldom helped in combat.

They began to fly in pattern, and things were looking up for a while...until fate remembered that this was the Aerialbots, and that something had to go wrong. Multiple things happened at once: Air Raid, for no apparent reason, decided to bank sharply to the left, just because he could. Slingshot, who was to his left, had to veer out of the way, almost hitting Fireflight, who was looking at something in the distance, wondering if it was really that shiny or if he was just seeing things. Fireflight almost collided with Silverbolt, whose only way to avoid being hit was to sharply drop beneath his youngest brother, causing him to look down, causing him to begin to freak out when he realized just how far away the ground really was. This lead to Skydive trying to calm down their leader and keep him from psyching himself out while Slingshot got into a mid-air verbal sparring match with Air Raid and Fireflight.

They didn't even notice that Blitz had left the ground until he flew into the middle of their group, effectively breaking up the fight between the Aerialbots and pulling Silverbolt's attention away from just how high up he was. The black mech hovered there, arms crossed, staring at the mechs.

Feeling as if the Seeker was in some way insulting them (which he was, just silently), Slingshot said, "Let's see you do better, huh?"

Rolling his optics for no one to see, Blitz transformed into a sleek Cybertronian jet, his paint job making him a pretty memorable sight. He paused for a moment before he was...gone. The only way that the Aerialbots could tell he'd been there was the breeze that he left in his wake as he zoomed off. The brothers turned and saw him, already quite a distance away. He turned and watched them, obviously expecting them to follow. Intrigued, they transformed and followed.

It became a game of sorts, Blitz flying and the Aerialbots giving chase, trying to see if they could catch up to the black Seeker as he swerved and banked, constantly keeping them on alert for his next turn.

Blitz flew close to the Ark, close enough that he was almost skimming the top of it. He then turned on his side, putting one of his wings straight in the air, and he flew parallel to the side of the ship. Each of these movements was a test for the Aerialbots, to see how well they could mirror his movements. Apparently they needed a lot of work, because flying that close to the Ark left the Aerialbots with scratches and scrapes marring their paintwork.

The Seeker made note that they needed work flying close to surfaces and to others, and continued on. He moved out into open airspace, away from the great ship. He'd need the room for what he was about to do. Blitz was fairly sure that the Aerialbots couldn't match him on this stunt, but he wanted to prove to them why Prowl wanted him to assist them in their flying. So he had a few modesty problems; was that so bad? It wasn't that he was full of himself, he just didn't feel that he should lie about his own abilities, and from a factual standpoint, he was the better flier here. He didn't care if that made him sound narcissistic.

Abruptly, Blitz pulled upwards, flying into the sky at a straight angle. Surprised but not defeated, the gestalt followed him. Once he'd reached an appropriate altitude, the Seeker suddenly tipped forward, the nose of the jet facing straight at the ground, before he engaged his thrusters and increased his speed, flying directly towards the ground of the metal planet below them. The other jets had no idea what the Seeker had planned, but they followed confusedly anyway.

About halfway to the ground, Blitz did something almost suicidal: he cut his thrusters, his engines, and he began to freefall. Shocked and fearful for the Seeker's life, the Aerialbots quickly contemplated amongst themselves if they should chase him, try to save him from his impending meeting of doom with the ground. It wasn't going to be a "Hi, how ya doin'?" meeting either. It would be more of a "Hi -" SPLAT! They didn't really want to watch.

Blitz let himself fall, reveling in the rush he got as he fell, feeling the wind around him, hearing it rush past his audios. It was reckless stunts like this that he'd tried during his depressed period, and he'd kept this one even when he began to care about staying alive again. It was always exhilarating, just falling at high speeds, and letting gravity do its work. He knew he was scaring the Aerialbots; across his own gestalt link, he let out a joyous, if a little insane sounding, laugh. His gestalt all groaned; they could guess what he was doing right now, and Nightshade definitely did not condone it. However, the Seeker ignored his gestalt leader's demands that he stop acting so reckless and restart his engine before he got himself or someone else killed. Blitz tuned them all out, just enjoying the fleeting feeling of being truly, completely free, leaving his life in Primus' hands.

He found himself rapidly approaching the ground all too soon. Sighing mentally, he waited till the last possible nano-klik before sharply pulling up, aligning himself with the ground that was but a whisper below him. He skimmed the ground briefly before continuing his high-speed antics, gaining altitude and circling back to look for the Aerialbots.

Said mechs were hovering in the air, staring at the Seeker that flew in front of them and began circling. They were about to make comments when they realized that he actually seemed _happy_; quite a feat for the previously-emotionless mech. He circled in again, closer this time, and he nudged Silverbolt playfully.

_Nudged. _

_Playfully._

Both were words that were hardly equated with Blitz.

For his part, the Seeker was on something of a sky-high. None of his gestaltmates were fliers, and nobody at the glitch base would fly with him. It was the first time he'd flown with someone out of combat in an extremely long time, and dare he say it, he was _happy_, deliriously giddy, and by Primus he wanted to _play_, he wanted to chase and be chased, he wanted to have _fun_.

Ignoring any vain worries about upholding his stoic reputation, he continued circling the Aerialbots, trying to get them to play with him. He hadn't played with another flier in he couldn't remember how long. It was too long, and that was all that mattered. It was times like this when he was reminded just how young he really was – the Aerialbots would be shocked to know that he was the same age as they were. Like his file stated, he was technically still in his youngling stages, and he knew that the Aerialbots were, too.

They couldn't hold out long to his playful advances, and soon Fireflight broke from his brothers and followed the Seeker jet, speeding to surpass him, initiating a race between the two jets. Soon after the others decided to forget decorum and followed, the group racing to no particular finish, just tying to get ahead of the others. It was a sight that could have made the hardest of 'Cons grin – except for maybe Megatron, that hardaft.

* * *

Nightshade trudged to the security hub, an uncharacteristic scowl on his face. He knew he had no real skills, but he still felt put out that he was the _only _member of the gestalt not to receive a specialized job. 'Shade was usually such a calm, kind mech, but he was still a little miffed at his placement, even though he logically knew that he would have done the same thing, had he been in Prowl's position. Was it such a crime to be petty once in a while?

The tall mech had entered the room, scowl firmly in place, ready to give pit to whatever poor mech he'd been partnered with for the duration of their shift. He plopped into the empty seat with a huff, not even checking to see who it was sitting next to him. He continued glaring at the monitors in front of him, watching with disdain as the mechs on the screen, with all of their _specialized_ jobs, went through their duties, their _specialized_ duties.

"Whoa, what'd the screen _do_ to you?" a familiar voice asked humorously. Head snapping to the side, Night saw the charming green mech from the previous orn. His dour mood suddenly lifted.

"Oh, um, nothing, I just...yeah." Phantom would have been laughing at his counterpart had he not also liked the green mech. Instead, he groaned at what was now both of their shortcoming. Nightshade was incredibly nervous; Phantom couldn't take over for him (one of the moments where they both cursed not being able to switch out at will) and they both knew that Shaders was too shy to hold a conversation properly with a mech he liked, let alone flirt.

Charmed, Hound held out a servo. "I don't believe we were ever properly introduced; I'm Hound."

"Nightshade," 'Shade said softly, optics firmly planted on the ground as he quickly shook Hound's hand, silently reveling in the soft touch.

"Hm, Nightshade. I like it, but it's quite the mouthful, no offense. Got any nicknames?" Hound wanted to have his own, special name to call the mech.

"Um, sometimes the guys call me 'Shade or Night, and Phantom likes to call me Shaders, so the others do it sometimes too."

"I thought that Crash told Prime that Phantom was your nickname?" Hound asked, bemused.

Quickly realizing his mistake, he scrambled to find a suitable answer. "I, uh...um, well, you see, I..." Wow, could he really mess this up anymore than he already had? Probably not, but he wasn't about to think that line seriously, should fate decide to take that as a personal challenge.

"What's wrong? It's okay, you can tell me." _You can tell me anything_, Hound thought, _I want to know everything about you_. He knew that sounded creepy, but it was the truth.

"Can you keep a secret?" Nightshade blurted, terribly anxious. If he messed this up now, he'd lose any chance of getting to know Hound.

"Of course," Hound replied, shuttering his optics in confusion. "Why? I'm sure it can't be anything too bad."

"I...I have a glitch."

Hound laughed, not noticing the forlorn look spreading across Nightshade's faceplates.

He was laughing at him. The fight was already lost. Shoving back the urge to weep, Nightshade turned towards the screens, staring at them heatedly, shuttering his optics rapidly and swearing he'd ignore Hound for the rest of the shift, maybe for the rest of his time on the Ark. That was extremely unlikely, but hey, he could try.

Hound calmed his laughing a little and looked back at Nightshade, his chuckles dying out completely when he saw the look on the other mech's faceplates. It was such a sad, defeated look that it made Hound's spark wrench in his chassis. Nobody should ever have that look on their face, especially not one as nice as Nightshade. With a sick feeling, the tracker realized that he had been the one who'd put that look there.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked quickly, feeling his spark sink when the other wouldn't even acknowledge him. "I wasn't laughing at you, I promise. I just thought it was funny that you said you had a glitch like it was some secret. I mean, you came from the glitch base, no offense, so it was pretty obvious you must've had some sort of glitch." Hound realized belatedly that he was just digging himself a deeper hole. Nightshade was shuttering his optics more than necessary – oh slag, he hadn't made him cry, had he? Hound wouldn't ever be able to forgive himself if he did.

Nightshade was so embarrassed at the moment, he couldn't even respond to Hound. He couldn't believe that he was almost _crying_. _Someone shoot me now_, he thought desperately.

"I'm sorry, I'm an idiot," Hound continued, wanting Nightshade to at least look at him. "Can you forgive me? I promise I wouldn't ever think less of you for your glitch."

"You don't even know what it is!" 'Shade exclaimed in annoyance, finally turning towards the tracker once more. "I was trying to tell you when you started laughing at me. Nobody knows what it is but my gestalt and the higher ups, and I thought I could trust you not to tell." He didn't mention that Tracks knew, too; so far the vain mech hadn't told anybody, and he didn't want anyone asking him about it, afraid that he'd tell.

"You can trust me!" Hound could see his chances with the mech slipping away from him, and he was desperate to grab them back, by any means necessary.

"Promise?" the black mech asked unsurely.

"Of course," Hound said, feeling like he may have a chance with him after all.

"Phantomismyglitch!" he blurted, ignoring his alternate's feelings at his wording of the statement.

"Um, what?" Hound had no idea what was just said to him.

"Phantom, the mech that threatened Lightfire, the glitch base's commander."

"Wasn't that you?" Hound was completely confused.

"Well, yes it was my body, but no, it wasn't _me_. Phantom is the name of my, erm, alternate personality." He muttered the last two words so that they were barely perceptible.

"You have two personalities?" Well, Hound certainly hadn't been expecting to hear _that._ Then again, it made sense. He couldn't imagine that a mech as sweet as Nightshade could have viciously threatened Lightfire like that, even if he deserved it.

"Yeah, me and Phantom. We can't control when we switch out, and the only physical way to tell if it's Phantom is that his optics are a sort of violet-red color. No, he's not evil and he's not a Decepticon. He's just a little more, um, violent than I am. But don't worry, he likes you." Reasons why Nightshade didn't talk to mechs he had crushes on: he always said a lot more than he meant to.

Hound was perversely joyful that Phantom liked him, though they'd never personally met. "Well, I'm sure I'd like him too."

"Really? You aren't freaked out?"

"Of course not! You'll find that most mechs here don't care about glitches. Granted, some do, but most don't. I promise I won't tell."

"Thanks," Night was so inexplicably happy that he'd been accepted.

"No problem, Shaders."

* * *

_I swear, this is all a ploy to kill me,_ Sly thought as he walked the halls – well, as he was lead down the halls, blindfolded, by Jazz.

He'd been told to report to the suspicious black and white the previous orn by the other suspicious black and white. Really, that was all the information his glitch needed to make a conspiracy theory that the black and whites were out to get him.

Upon reaching the TIC's office, he'd not only been met by Jazz, but also the blue and white mech who kept staring at Crash, Mirage. This was not a good situation. He was stuck working with two questionable mechs who were probably going to kill him. Or leave him blindfolded and tied up somewhere where nobody would find him until it was too late and he was dead and they'd never find who did it and-

_Calm down_, he thought, _Blitz trusts Jazz. He's safe if Blitz trusts him_. But Blitz didn't know Mirage. He quashed his uneasy feelings and let himself be lead around the Ark, having no idea where they were going.

That was the point of Jazz's little "exercise". He decided to blindfold Slysight and lead him in circles around the Ark to throw off his sense of direction, and then he was dumping him in one of the lower decks (not that Sly knew that) where he'd never been before and having him make his way back to the rec. room without a map or asking for directions – Sly still couldn't get around the great ship without a map. All the while, Mirage, who'd be stationed on the other side of the same deck he was starting in, would be following him invisibly and trying to catch him. If Sly was caught, he lost. Thankfully, Jazz removed the blindfold he had on the young mech once they reached their apparent destination.

"You ready?" the shorter of the two suspicious black and whites asked.

"No," Sly answered with a straight face, in all honesty.

"Good! In the field you'll almost never be ready for what's thrown at you. Go!"

And with that, Jazz began timing Sly's trip. He himself went off to one of his secret passages and quickly made it to the rec. room, where he'd hang out while waiting for Sly or Mirage to show up. Seriously, it was one of his best training exercises ever – not only would it show what Slysight was capable of, but it gave Mirage a chance to try catching a moving, fighting target who wasn't used to his invisibility. Plus it allowed him to sit back and relax while they did so.

Slysight just took a corridor and started walking. He knew enough to guess that he was on a lower deck, because he recognized nothing, so he began looking for a way to and upper deck. Seeing a flight of stairs, he moved towards them, his sensor net spread out as far as it could go, feeling every movement around. Not feeling anyone breach the net, he quickly moved up the stairs, not making any noise in case Mirage was near, trying to find him.

He kept moving upwards until he reached what appeared to be the top level. Okay, this was good. He'd been around the main level before.

Suddenly, he felt movement on the edge of his net. He would've thought it was just another mech, until the net formed a picture in his mind of the movements. The figure wasn't walking, they were creeping silently. _Mirage._

Optics wide, the small mech moved more quickly, looking for something recognizable. Slag it, he needed to stop walking with his head down all the time! The floor always looked the same!

He felt Mirage gaining on him, only a hallway away. Looking around wildly, he saw a large pipe running across the ceiling. Nightshade was the one who was good with acrobatics and swinging himself around, but he'd been shown a few tips. Doing a running jump, Sly flung himself at the pipe and pulled up, scrambling on top of it and tucking himself away from view.

His sensors nets went haywire, and if he listened closely, he could hear the almost silent footsteps as they rounded the corner. Due to his extremely advanced sensor nets, Sly could practically see Mirage's outline, though he knew that to anyone else (his gestalt included), with maybe the exception of Jazz, Mirage would be completely invisible.

The invisi-spy moved forward and stopped directly under the pipe. Sly cringed and tried to quiet his systems by shutting them down as much as he could without passing out. He stayed completely silent and still, and, much to his relief, the spy moved on.

As Mirage was presumably headed towards the rec. room, believing that Sly had already headed in that direction, Slysight decided that this time _he'd_ be the chaser. Carefully sliding down from his perch, he crept after the spy, always waiting until he'd left a corridor before heading down it himself.

Eventually, after a long and grueling process of following and hiding, they reached a hallway that Sly recognized to contain the rec. room. Joy filled his spark, but he froze and hid once again as Mirage entered the rec. room. Probably because he didn't find Slysight there, he left the room and continued on, in the opposite direction from where he'd started.

Seeing his chance, the new recruit moved on. He'd almost reached the rec. room, his freedom, when something happened: Mirage, deciding that he was sure Sly would have been coming from the other direction and must have gotten lost somewhere else along the way, doubled back to look for him, just as the young mech stepped into the open. Both stared at the other before running, Slysight towards the rec. room, Mirage towards Sly, only looking like a shimmer in the air.

Mirage was closer to the door and had a much easier chance of reaching it first to block Sly's entrance. Needing to stop Mirage in his tracks before he blocked the door, Sly panicked, looking for something, _anything_ to stop the spy with.

Beginning to freak out, Sly grabbed a datapad from subspace and whipped it as hard as he could at the spy's helm. It made contact with a resounding 'clang', and it stunned the invisible mech, causing him to fall to the ground, where he hit his head and lost consciousness, his electro-disrupter turning off to reveal him.

Slysight, shocked at what he'd done, let out a nervous noise that sounded awfully like, "EEP!" and made a run for the rec. room. He ran inside and leaned against the wall next to the door, his vents working overtime. At the commotion, the mechs in the room looked up. Jazz smiled proudly and approached the anxious mech, clapping him on the back and inadvertently scaring him more (he later checked his shoulder to be sure that no tracking devices had been attached).

"Ya did it!" the black and white exclaimed happily. Turning to the other occupants of the room, all of whom he'd made privy to his "training exercise", he slung an arm around the young mech's shoulders and said, "Look at my lil' protégé! Made it here on his own, even outran Mirage!"

"Um, about that," Sly murmured. "We had a bit of a, er, run-in, and, um-"

The twins entered the room, just getting back from their patrol of the area surrounding where the Ark was currently docked. They'd just seen the Aerialbots out flying with a jet that _had_ to be Blitz, and wow, he was a pretty flier. But before they could tell everyone their story, they had a question to ask.

"Why is Mirage unconscious in the hallway?"

All optics turned to Slysight, who smiled sheepishly while rubbing the back of his helm self consciously. "Yeah, about that..."

* * *

Crash looked up from the tools Ratchet was making him sort when the medbay doors opened, admitting two mechs carrying a third between them. His optics brightened as he noticed that it was Jazz and Slysight carrying Mirage, that handsome mech from the rec. room.

"Hey Kitten! Wha's up, ya knock him out?" He meant the question as a joke, but when he saw the sheepish, embarrassed look on his brother's face, a grin split his own.

"Holy Primus, ya did! Ya took him out! Aw, I'm so proud of ya right now!" After Mirage had been placed on a berth, he grabbed his younger brother up in a hug.

"What did I say about encouraging bad behavior?" Ratchet asked in a scolding tone. Sighing as he let go of Slysight, he mumbled obediantly, "Not to tell anyone that it was okay to harm others."

"So what happened? Did Mirage walk around invisible again and someone ran into him? I told him to stop doing that!" Mirage was one of Ratchet's "repeat offenders" (like the twins), constantly doing something (or in his case, the same thing), even though it almost always ended in him getting harmed, because _nobody_ listened to the medic anymore.

"Actually, my lil' protégé here knocked 'im out with a datapad. Apparently the younglin's got quite the arm." Jazz still sounded perversely proud, even though one of his mechs had been taken out in the process.

"Don't I know it," Crash muttered as he began to look over the spy's dented helm, noticing two dents. Looking at his brother for an explanation, the orange-and-grey mech mumbled, "He kind of hit his helm on the floor when he fell over."

"Nice," the young medic muttered, knowing full well that Ratchet could hear him, and ducking the subsequent wrench that was thrown at him. He began working on the dents in Mirage's helm, Ratchet standing behind him, peering over his shoulder and scrutinizing his every move, turning the repair into an unofficial and impromptu test.

It wasn't just a rumor that Crash sang in the medbay – he really did. He'd had to explain the origin of most of his odd, obscure songs, all of which were in a foreign language, earlier.

_Earlier that orn_

Crash was humming a song. Actually, he'd set it to play from his internal speakers, so everyone in the medbay could hear it. He translated the lyrics into Cybertronian and crooned them at First Aid, who just smiled and laughed. It was then that Ratchet returned, a cube of energon in his hand and a scowl on his face.

"Slag, I thought they were joking about the singing-thing."

"Nope, it's all true," Crash said during a particularly long riff.

"Where do you even find this slag?" Ratchet asked, making his feelings on Crash's music known.

"No idea."

"How could you not know? You had to find it somewhere," Ratchet said, taking a sip from his cube.

Crash put down the tools he'd been fiddling with and said, "Would you believe me if I said that the songs just came to me? And I don't mean like, 'Oh, the inspiration for them just came to me!', because I don't know them until they pop into my head."

"How do you mean?" First Aid asked. He personally liked the new medic; he was amusing.

"Okay, I want you to know that I'm telling the truth when I say this, you can ask any of my gestalt and they'll tell you it's true."

"What is it?" Ratchet asked impatiently.

"A couple bases back, I had this friend. She was an engineer, and 'cause the base was also underfunded, the medbay and her lab were the same place, and if I had nothin' to do I'd help her with her projects. One orn she came up with this machine; it was somethin' to do with using radio waves and reconstructin' them to see the future, or somethin' like that. Anyways, I let her tune it to what would've been my future, and we started it up. It backfired...sorta. Ya see, we think that, in a way, it worked, 'cause we know that the songs I kept hearin' we're radio waves. Her theory was that I became somethin' of a really, really tiny walkin' wormhole – not big enough to do any damage to me or anyone else, but enough to let the waves slide through. She thought that maybe the waves were from things I was hearin' in the future, and through my little wormhole, I was hearin' 'em now. So, the future part worked, but instead of seein' it, I was hearin' it, an' then only things that could be transmitted through radio waves. I heard enough of the language that I can translate a few things."

"Who was your friend?" Ratchet asked, shocked. "That kind of technology and research could-"

"Don't matter," Crash cut him off gruffly. "She's dead now. 'Cons attacked an' bombed the base. Me an' my bros were out on the field, fightin', so we weren't there when it happened. Everythin' was destroyed."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Ratchet murmured, sympathetic. They'd all lost friends to this infernal war.

"Thanks," Crash muttered, and he turned up the music, singing along at an obnoxiously loud level.

_Present_

When Mirage began to online, all he could hear was a loud noise. It didn't do anything to help his killer processor ache. He remembered seeing Slysight, and chasing him, and then getting hit with a...datapad? No, the file wasn't corrupted; he _had _been hit with a datapad. Why couldn't he remember what was after that?

He onlined his optics, about to rip a new one for whoever was making that obnoxious noise that he identified as some form of singing, but that thought flew out of his CPU he realized he was looking up at a grey visor with bright blue optics underneath and a lopsided grin aimed in his direction. It was his new favorite medic.

"Why hello there! Ya took quite the fall after Sly hit ya. Ya hit yer helm when ya fell; got a nasty dent from it, but I'm almost done fixin' it."

Mirage grinned a tiny grin and let Crash do his work, continuing to sing some crazy song that nobody understood. If this was what he got to online to, then he'd have to let Slysight knock him out more often.

* * *

**Ah, a day in the life. Crash's friend is a reference to an OC who I chose to cut out of the story, as to not have too many OCs in it, but I thought she deserved a shout-out. If you don't understand Crash's story, tell me and I'll try to explain it for you in more detail. In other news, the poll is still up; I'm still open for requests or ideas (keep 'em coming!) and please review!**


	9. Now Comes the Night

**Another pretty long chapter. Am I pathetic that while I love how this chapter came out, I was extremely saddened by it? You'll see what I mean. This will be the last of this timeline for a while, as we're moving on to the '07 timeline next chapter **squeals in delight**, but this timeline will appear in flashbacks and such, as we still haven't addressed the exact events and situations that lead to Blitz's silence and mask, though part of the mask story is told in this chapter. Later on we'll also revisit Blitz's sparklinghood on the Ark, considering it hasn't yet been told how he came from being raised lovingly by Wheeljack to being at the mercy of the MICS in a lab.**

**Breem – 8.3 Earth minutes – Equivalent to a Cybertronian minute**

**Joor – About 6.5 Earth hours – Cybertronian hour**

**Orn – About 13 Earth days – Cybertronian day**

**Deca-Orn – About 130 Earth days – 10 orns**

**Vorn – About 83 Earth years – Cybertronian year**

**Nano-klik – About half of an Earth second**

_:: blah :: _**- gestalt link**

**Blah – Com. link**

_Blah _**– thoughts**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Transformers or any of its characters. I do own Blitz, the gestalt, and anyone else that's not canon. The lyrics to "Now Comes the Night" belong to Rob Thomas.**

* * *

"_**Now comes the night, feel it fading away**_

_**And the soul underneath, is it all that remains?**_

_**So just slide over here, leave your fear in the fray**_

_**Let us hold to each other until the end of our days**_

_**And when the hour is upon us and our beauty surely gone**_

_**No, you will no be forgotten and you will not be alone**_

_**No, you will not be alone"**_

_~ "Now Comes the Night" – Rob Thomas_

_Vorns later_

"Slag, that 'Con got me good," Sideswipe grumbled, holding his semi-severed arm to his body so it wouldn't fall off completely. He entered the medbay, his brother right behind him and ready to gripe about a ruined paintjob.

All of the medics were on duty due to the recent battle; even Wheeljack and Perceptor were recruited to help out, neither having been too injured in the battle to help.

"Just sit down and shut up," Ratchet said without looking up from whatever he was doing to some wires in Cliffjumper's leg. "Crash, go help him. I'll finish up with Jazz when I'm done with Cliffjumper." Crash had repaired most of Jazz's injuries, and now there were only a few, minor things to be dealt with; Sideswipe's arm was of more pressing importance, and would get fixed first. Such were things in a busy medbay.

"Can you move over a lil', Sunshine? Can't get nothin' done with ya standin' in my way." Sunstreaker didn't like anyone calling him "Sunshine" or "Sunny" or the like, but Crash was his friend and he was helping his twin, so he let it slide without comment.

The silver medic got to work repairing the red twin's arm. It was only attached by a few wires, but the vital energon lines were still intact, so it wasn't immediately life-threatening. As he welded wires together, he hummed as he usually did, while keeping conversation with his "patient".

"So, who did this lil' number on ya?" he asked Sideswipe.

"Seekers, who else? Slaggers just don't appreciate a good Jet Judo." Crash only laughed at the warrior's grumbling.

"I'm sure you can tell Blitzy all 'bout it later and he'll pat yer helm for ya, if yer lookin' for appreciation."

Blitz's previous relationships on the Ark had been somewhat rekindled over the vorns. When he wasn't with the gestalt or on duty with the Aerialbots (who he'd become considerably closer to), he could often be found with Blue and the twins. He visited Wheeljack often, the inventor wanting to ensure that Blitz was looking after himself properly, and he enjoyed the Seeker's company.

Everyone on the Ark had gotten used to Blitz's silence, accepting his speaking through a datapad as if it was a normal thing. It often confused mechs from other bases when he wouldn't respond to them verbally, but the Ark's crew were protective of their own and would not allow comments on it, the same way that they wouldn't allow remarks about Crash's visor or Blitz's mask.

They'd finally figured out why Crash wore a visor when one orn, Cliffjumper simply asked him. Crash didn't mind the invasive question at all, and he removed the visor with a practiced ease to reveal a long, jagged gash bisecting his faceplates, the edge of the scar raised and rough. It ran from the top of his faceplates down over his mouth and ended somewhere under his chin. The only reason it hadn't yet been noticed was because the visor was long and the cut became shallower the farther down it went. It seemed like it should have cut the very edge of his right optic, but the optic showed no marks.

"I got the optic replaced," he explained, "But we couldn't do much more to repair the scar. It used to go up part of my helm, too, but we were able to clean that up."

Mirage asked softly, "How did it happen?"

The medic laughed lightly, "Ya don't have to be so serious; it happened a long time ago, and I'm fine with it now. In fact, we probably have the proper supplies to get rid of it, but I kinda like it – it's a part o' me, it's got character. Yeah, it makes me look like one ugly fragger, but I don't mind. As for how I got it, a 'Con got to me. Slagger woulda killed me if it hadn't been for..." Crash trailed off, glancing towards Blitz, who was leaning in his normal place against the wall of the rec. room. He never took his energon there, because that would involve removing his mask in public, so he'd watch the others interact and he would drink his energon later, in private. Now he was watching Crash carefully.

"Been for what?" Bluestreak asked eagerly, wanting to hear the story.

"Well, Blitzy here saved my life," Crash said, grinning at his brother. "Let's just leave it at that. That's why we're BFFAEAEs – Best Friends Forever and Ever and Ever. He promised me that if I lived, he'd let me say that in public as much as I wanted. Only thing that kept me goin' when I was bleedin' out all over the place. He's a lot more heroic than ya would think."

"How'd he save you?" Cliffjumper questioned. Others nodded eagerly; everyone wanted to know. Crash smiled softly in return, a tinge of sadness in it.

"Well, that's his story to tell," he said, looking at the Seeker meaningfully, "And one orn, when he's ready, he'll tell ya. Till then, be patient. He's got lots o' secrets and such, but he's got a big spark. Plus, if yer nice, he just may save yer aft." With that, he replaced his visor and grabbed Blitz, dragging him off to Primus knew where.

After that, nobody asked about the mask or the visor, though some speculated that Blitz also became scarred when saving Crash and that was why he wore a mask. No matter how it happened though, Blitz wasn't harassed for answers, and his silence was further accepted.

The gestalt's glitches were also accepted, though it took most mechs some time to get used to them. Slysight still freaked out occasionally, but he no longer believed that everyone on the Ark was trying to kill him, and he actually trusted Jazz, being that he was with him so often, though Prowl still made him a little nervous.

Nightshade's glitch had become common knowledge less than a vorn after they'd arrived on the Ark. He'd known that his cover couldn't last forever, but it was completely blown when mechs saw the usually kind and compassionate Nightshade with violet optics laughing his aft off at some 'Cons getting mauled by the Dinobots. Even if Night didn't like Decepticons, he didn't like anyone getting injured or killed. Phantom, as the others soon learned, was the opposite, which was why he was cheering the Dinobots on. Needless to say, Phantom was always welcome to hang out with the Ark's largest occupants.

While Phantom unnerved some, most learned to treat him the same way you would Sunstreaker – he was arrogant, he was violent, he was cynical and sarcastic, and you shouldn't take anything he said to spark because chances were he didn't mean it. And if he did, well, Nightshade would keep him from attacking you – maybe. Probably. Nightshade would most likely stop Phantom from trying to assault you.

If someone insulted Nightshade, not only would they have Phantom and Hound to deal with, but also Tracks, who had somehow decided to designate himself the gestalt leader's unofficial bodyguard and close friend. It was an unexpected, but accepted friendship, mainly created because Nightshade and Phantom were the only ones who could really stand being around Tracks for long periods of time without minding.

Crash had become somewhat popular around base, which wasn't surprising given his outgoing personality. His singing in the medbay wasn't much of a problem anymore, though visitors found it extremely odd. It was odder when one of them walked in on a slow day in the medbay, where Crash had gotten so bored that even standing over Swoop and First Aid's shoulders singing to them hadn't helped, so he'd instigated his own version of a dance party in the medbay. He'd received multiple wrenches to the head from Ratchet for it, but it had lightened the mood in the medbay, and had become a part of Ark lore and the story would be told for millions of vorns to come.

What he'd also become famous for was his lying. He'd been through many sessions with Smokescreen to try to lessen his compulsive lying. It worked, in a way. He didn't lie much anymore. No, now he told the truth, with blaring, brash, one-hundred percent clarity. It seemed that Crash was physically incapable of following the golden mean between the two extremes of lying about everything and telling the truth so honestly that it often hurt others.

This was shown when the femmes came to visit. Elita One made the mistake of peeking into the medbay when she was on her way to a private "meeting" with Optimus to ask if she looked alright. Being that she hadn't been repaired completely from a recent battle, and her paint left much to be desired, she wasn't exactly in pristine condition. The only medic on duty, Crash, made her very aware of this and he told her so with complete honesty and innocence. Needless to say, Elita and Optimus' "meeting" didn't go as planned. Crash was reprimanded later for, in layman's terms, hurting Elita One's feelings, and he was assigned extra shifts for it.

In Crash's defense, Ratchet ran a diagnostic scan on him and found that it was his glitch trying to manifest itself in a new way after Smokescreen had affectively trained the young medic to restrain himself from spouting lies all the time. If he couldn't lie, then he'd tell the truth in its fullest, even if he didn't want to. Considering he couldn't control it, most mechs chose to tell him their preference – if they would they rather be lied to, or told the truth no matter what. Of course, when faced with 'Cons, he'd lie like he was about to die – which, with Decepticons, he very well could be. If he felt relaxed enough around some 'bots, he was able to moderate himself, at least a little.

"Yeah, yeah. Have you ever noticed that Blitz has never fought the other Seekers?" Sides asked the medic.

"Yep. Prime an' Prowl are always sendin' him off to do somethin' else when we're against them. Don't know why, considerin' Blitzy could fight 'em better than the Aerials could. Blitzy's the only one fast enough to catch up to Screamer, and they've never even let him try. It's weird."

"So are a lot of things on the Ark," Sideswipe laughed. They watched as Nightshade came into the medbay, burns obvious on his chassis, with a worried but far less injured Hound trailing behind him. It had been obvious to everyone from the start that the two had a thing for each other, and in recent vorns they'd finally begun to act on it, albeit tentatively.

"Hound, it's not that bad," Night groaned.

"It's bad enough that you're wincing all the time, which is bad enough to need a medic. Shaders, please don't fight me on this." The green mech widened his optics and pouted at the other, knowing that doing so always got him his way.

Sighing, Nightshade sat down on an empty berth. "You're deviously evil; you do know that, right?"

"Yep! And you wouldn't have me any other way," he said happily, pecking the other on the cheek. Nightshade looked down shyly, still embarrassed at the attention after all of these vorns.

"Hey, keep the action to a minimum!" Crash called, not looking away from his welding. "We have younglin's present – Sideswipe's here." If Crash hadn't been working on the red twin's arm, he would've been cuffed with it. Instead, Sideswipe chose to flick the medic's helm with his other servo.

"Action?" Sunstreaker scoffed. "Those two wouldn't know _real _action if it smacked them upside the helm."

"Not everyone's as perverted as ya are, Sunny," Crash muttered, putting the finishing touches on the plating and smoothing the weld line the best he could. "'Kay, ya should be fine to go, Sides. Can't do much for yer paint at the moment; ya could come back later if ya want, but I'm sure yer brother's got enough for the both of ya."

He then moved to his brother's berth, unceremoniously shoving Hound out of the way to get there. "What is it with everyone standin' in the medic's way?" he grumbled.

"I hear that," Ratchet said from where he was now fixing Jazz.

Things began to calm in the medbay after that, most of the injured mechs having been repaired and sent on their merry way. The medics were just finishing the last of the repairs and cleaning up the medbay when Prime entered. Ratchet moved to assist him to a berth, as he hadn't yet been repaired, but was waved away.

"Crash, we need to speak with you. Your gestalt has been sent for already, Ratchet, you will probably want to hear this as well. If you'd both follow me? I'm sure that everything can be handled here without you." He sent a meaningful look at the rest of the medbay's occupants who nodded in return. Optimus turned and left the medbay, a confused Crash following behind, trying to convince Ratchet that he was sure he hadn't done anything deserving reprimanding recently.

They reached the Ark's main conference room and were taken inside. The rest of the gestalt were already there, as well as Prowl, Jazz, Ironhide, and the currently visiting-again Elita One. She looked at Crash with narrowed optics. He smiled sheepishly and scurried to stand next to Blitz, trying to look professional.

Prime began, "We have called you all here because we believe it is necessary to deploy the gestalt of Nightshade, Crash, Blitz, and Slysight, on a long-term off-ship reconnaissance mission in search of alternative sources of energon."

Silence reigned, soon broken when Ratchet released a strangled, "What?!"

The gestalt was shocked. Crash was gaping, Slysight was afraid (instead of just being nervous like he usually was), Nightshade looked sparkbroken, and even Blitz, under his ever-constant mask, was shell-shocked. For the first time in his existence, the black and blue flier had felt like he'd had a home, a family that wasn't just his gestalt. It may have been extremely dysfunctional and maybe incestuous if one kept using the family analogy in regards to the Ark's romantic relationships, but it was still a family nonetheless. Or at least, it had been. Now their world was coming down around their audios, and there wasn't anything they could do to stop it.

"How long-term do we mean by long-term?" Crash asked carefully, trepidation clear in his tone.

"As long as is necessary," the Prime said grimly. "We've received word that there's a far-off solar system that was recently discovered. The Decepticons have yet to hear of it, and we'd like to keep it that way so we may search for energon there before they do, so we need you to leave immediately. You will be departing first thing next orn."

"Why us?" Nightshade asked, misery evident in his voice. The thought of being away from Hound for so long pained him; he tried to shove it out of his CPU. Phantom was growling, wanting to give the Prime and Elita a piece of his mind. Phantom, for some odd, unknown reason, despised Elita and the femmes, making their visits very hard on the gestalt. When Crash had unwittingly insulted Elita One, Phantom had been extremely proud.

Elita spoke, "We couldn't take members all of the same department or division, because it would cripple that force. We needed a group that was made of mechs from different departments, worked well together, could stand being in close quarters and wouldn't come into conflict with each other, and could be trusted to keep silent on their mission. Your gestalt is the only group fitting all of those criteria."

With a sad face devoid of any positive feeling, Slysight said quietly, "They know that there's a good chance we won't return. Am I right?" The lack of responses said it all. Prime and Elita shifted uneasily, obviously having been the ones to create the plan. "It's just like with MICS; they needed a group of mechs who nobody would miss once they were gone. They needed somebody expendable."

"That can't be true!" Jazz exclaimed, looking to the two leaders for any refuting of this morbid statement. "They have plenty who would miss 'em if they were gone!"

Ratchet added, "It would kill the twins and Bluestreak if they didn't make it, not to mention Wheeljack. The Aerialbots all look up to Blitz; they've been doing so much better since he started helping them. First Aid and Swoop obviously feel the same about Crash. Hound would be sparkbroken without Nightshade; it's obvious how they feel about each other. And what about Cliffjumper? Primus knows he's improved since Slysight started rooming with him. He's almost tolerable to have a conversation with now. The same goes for Tracks due to Nightshade's influence. Plus Sly is one of the few mechs that Red Alert trusts. Everything would be messed up without them here."

The gestalt was, for lack of a better term, touched that Ratchet would speak on their behalf so positively.

"Those are all valid points," Optimus said trying to placate the CMO. "But the fact still stands that this is a necessary mission, and the gestalt are the most appropriate Autobots for the job. Yes, it is dangerous, but it's also a very important and honorable mission. I'm sure you can all understand that. This mission is, however, non-negotiable. You've all been informed so you can say your goodbyes, and so those of you staying on-base can plan your future rosters accordingly. That will be all." Prime hated sending any of his troops on missions such as this one. He prayed to Primus that he'd see those brave mechs again, unharmed and safe.

Prowl and Jazz exchanged glances, hating the idea but knowing they couldn't fight it. They watched their sparkling leave with a forlorn look on his faceplates, feeling miserable themselves.

The gestalt trudged off to their rooms, to pack their things and to say their goodbyes.

Nightshade entered the room he shared with Tracks. The blue mech looked up as he entered.

"Finally," he said. "I heard you and the guys got called down to a meeting with Prime."

"Yep," the black mech muttered, pulling a box out of the closet. Tracks watched him confusedly. "At least you'll have the room to yourself again."

"What do you mean?" Tracks asked, at his side in moments. "They're moving your room?"

"Nope."

"They can't be sending you to another base!" Tracks said disbelievingly.

"They aren't," Night replied stoically.

"Then what?"

"The gestalt is being sent on a long-term mission to Primus-knows-where. Don't know how long we'll be gone, but there's apparently a really good chance that we're not going to make it back alive."

"They - they can't do that!" Tracks couldn't believe that his best friend – his only friend – was leaving him, er, leaving the Ark! "Prime can't do that!"

"Um, you're forgetting that Optimus Prime is not only the _Prime_, but he's also the leader of the Autobots. With Elita One backing up the decision, it's final. It's apparently a _great honor_ for us." Night made his feelings on the "great honor" obvious.

"When are you going?" Tracks asked quietly.

"First thing next orn," the black mech said solemnly. "I'll be back later; I need to go say goodbye to Hound."

"Okay," Tracks said numbly, sitting down on his berth.

Similar conversations occurred between the other roommates. Trailbreaker was shocked, Cliffjumper got upset and went on a rant, and Bluestreak couldn't hold back his tears.

Blitz had to stop by the Aerialbots' quarters and break the news to them. He received mixed responses, though none were positive. Fireflight was by far the most emotional. Blitz was feeling even more miserable, since he'd now faced two crying mechs and an almost berserker Slingshot. Slingshot didn't like most mechs outside of his brothers, so having one of the few he liked being sent away was hard on him.

Red Alert responded to Sly's leaving much more maturely than, say, Cliffjumper had, but he still wasn't happy about it. Upon hearing the news, Grimlock insisted that the gestalt couldn't be leaving, simply because he had said so. The other Dinobots had agreed. First Aid was sad that one of his few friends on the Ark was leaving, and had to be comforted by his brothers.

News spread quickly on the Ark, and soon it was the talk of the rec. room. Four mechs were there who hadn't yet heard the news personally, as the gestalt hadn't gotten to them yet, and none of them reacted well.

The twins went on a rampage almost worthy of Grimlock, crusading to beat some sense into Optimus themselves, and getting thrown in the brig in the process. Mirage felt as if he should've told Crash how he felt earlier, because now his chance had slipped away.

Hound had sat down dejectedly, drowning out everyone around him. Nightshade was leaving. He could be killed. _His _Shaders was going on a long, deadly mission and he very well may never see him again. When Nightshade arrived to tell him the news, he was tackled by a distraught green mech who was pleading with him not to leave. Though Night tried his best to explain the situation, both were upset by it.

It was with heavy sparks the Ark's crew recharged that orn. When they awoke, the feeling had only strengthened. Any mech who could make it to the landing pad to see the four off was present the next orn. Many goodbyes were said or repeated, and more than one mech had fluid in their optics that wasn't there due to injury.

Nightshade and Hound shared a very long kiss, not caring that everyone could see them. Blitz was getting more hugs than anyone would have expected of the cynical mute; between the twins, Blue, and the Aerials, he was almost crushed.

All had been said and done, and it was time for the gestalt to depart. It was as the four were boarding their small ship that a mech called out to Crash. Turning, he saw Mirage running up to him in a very out-of-character manner.

The blue and white spy came up to him, lifted the bottom of his visor, and placed a quick, chaste kiss on his scarred lips before letting the visor fall back in place. Leaning back, he smiled sadly and told the medic, "You better come back alive, you hear me?"

Shocked, Crash's faceplates were adorned by a splitting smile, as he replied, "Ya got it, 'Raj." Crushing the spy in a quick hug, he then turned and ran onto the ship, not daring to look back because he knew he'd never be able to leave if he did.

It was after the ship had set off and the emotions had died down to a quiet sadness when Crash breached an odd non sequitur. "Why don't we have a name for our gestalt?"

Drawn out of his longing, Hound-filled thoughts, Nightshade asked intelligently, "What?"

"Why don't we have a name for our gestalt? All the other gestalts have one."

_:: All of the other gestalts also combine, ::_ Blitz pointed out.

"Yeah, but they don't use their combiner name as a title for the gestalt. Think 'bout it: the Aerials combine into Superion, but they call themselves the Aerialbots. The Constructicons combine into Devastator, but they don't refer to themselves by his name all the time. So even if we don't combine, we should have a name for our gestalt."

"And what do you suggest?" Night asked tiredly, raising an optic ridge.

"How 'bout the 'Rogues'?" Crash suggested.

"Are you kidding me?" Shaders asked. "That's so clichéd, like someone who's trying too hard to sound cool."

_:: Sounds like a name a bad author would use, ::_ Phantom added.

_:: Might as well call ourselves the "DarkFyre Dragyns" ::_ Blitz joked, purposely sending the thought so the spelling would be odd.

"Okay, now that one's just stupid," Crash admonished. "C'mon, it would give us an _air of mystique_."

"Primus knows I want an air of mystique," Sly mumbled sarcastically. "Once I achieve that, my life will be complete."

_:: What a pathetic life, ::_ Blitz lamented.

"Don't I know it," the Special Operations mech agreed with a straight face.

"So it's settled then," Crash said with finality in his voice. "We shall from now on be known as the Rogues."

"Whatever you say, buddy," 'Shade said.

"What are we supposed to be rogues of?" Sly inquired, bemused.

"Okay, now yer just bein' mean," the medic pouted.

Slysight exclaimed defensively, "It was a legitimate question!"

The conversation continued for a while, never achieving a real end. Eventually, it came time for the gestalt to enter a deep state of stasis that they'd stay in for quite a time, so they wouldn't have to stay conscious during the entire grueling voyage. They didn't have nearly enough supplies to do that.

The gestalt stayed like that for vorns before they reached the solar system, loud blaring emergency alarms serving to wake them early. Something was wrong; the ship was rapidly veering off its course.

"What's happening?!" Slysight shouted, bolting from recharge painfully, stretching and straining unused joints prematurely.

"Something's up with the ship," Nightshade said, stating the obvious. Checking the controls, he exclaimed, "One of the planetary masses shifted its course since it was detected. We're too close to it; the ship's being pulled in by its gravity!"

_:: Could the emergency blasters be enough to pull us out? ::_ Blitz asked.

"That'd be a negative," Crash replied, tension filling his voice.

"We're going to burn up in the atmosphere!" Slysight exclaimed, and for once he wasn't being paranoid. The ship was going to burn and there was nothing they could do about it. If they stayed on, they'd be destroyed with it. It was time for a last ditch effort.

Doing his best to stay calm, 'Shade said, "Okay, guys, this is what we're going to do: grab anything important to you, anything we might need, and as much energon and supplies as you can. Subspace it all. We're ejecting from this ship."

"That's suicide!" Sly shouted. "We can't survive out there! We're not capable of long distance space travel like this!"

"Not in this form," Nightshade agreed grimly, giving them all a meaningful look. "But we're not going to be traveling a long distance."

"You mean the pods?" Crash asked, referring to the form that Cybertronians took on to make planetfall without a ship. "We're going to make planetfall?"

"That's right," their leader replied; unplanned planetfall was their only chance of survival. "Now move, this sucker isn't going to last much longer."

Doing as their leader instructed, they grabbed anything and everything, subspacing it all. They then moved to a small side area prepared especially for situations such as this. They looked at each other one last time, their bond really saying it all, and they prepared for planetfall. Nightshade went last, helping each of his brothers transform and eject from the ship, making sure they were safe.

Right after Blitz left, the ship began to quake and roll, the force of the gravity on it increasing greatly, almost knocking over the gestalt leader. Looking around one last time on what would be his last vestiges of Cybertron for a long while, Nightshade turned and transformed, ejecting from the ship. Almost right after he left, the ship began to burn, first with a few sparks, and then with a roaring inferno that the actual Inferno would have loved to witness.

Watching their ship go up in flames, Nightshade thanked Primus with his entire spark that he and his brothers had been spared. He then looked out at the odd, blue and green planet that they were rapidly approaching, and fell into stasis once more.

He'd awake again with his brothers in a couple million Earth years, when the young planet had been given time to grow more sentient beings. The gestalt would land in ancient Greece, their metallic bodies not only needing to be hidden to fit in, but being in need of repairs that couldn't be performed at the time.

While their bodies lay in stasis lock, the gestalt would dissociate from them, learning to stretch their holoforms so they could travel in them wherever they needed, as far as they needed, under the guise of being young humans. They'd learn to make their holoforms corporeal, and they'd learn the languages and customs of the times they lived through and in. When human technology advanced enough, they'd repair their real bodies and take on new alt modes, constantly changing their forms to fit the time. They'd continue to live out of their holoforms, though, and they'd do everything that normal human teenagers would, even going as far as to go to high school sometimes.

But for the time being, they would rest, rest until this future could be realized.

* * *

"Sir, we've lost transmissions with the gestalt's ship," Trailbreaker said distraughtly, hurrying to find the Prime in the rec. room from his post in the control room. "Its computer cut out, and we can find no signal of it."

Every mech in the room froze, and the news spread like wildfire until every mech on the Ark knew the morbid news, for the transmissions that the ship sent out constantly being lost could only mean one thing: the gestalt was lost to them forever.

"I see. Very well then, Trailbreaker. Carry on." Optimus turned away from the large mech, trying to hide the emotion in his own deep voice. They'd all known that this would probably happen, but he'd had such hope. The gestalt had been so young, so vibrant, so full of life. Now they were...gone, lost to the dark, cold depths of space. They didn't even have their bodies to give them a proper funeral, one fitting of mechs with their level of honor and bravery.

"Optimus?" a youthful voice asked. "What was Trailbreaker talking about? What gestalt? Who were they?"

"They were some of the bravest mechs any of us have ever had the honor of serving with, Bumblebee," Optimus Prime told the youngling, and with that he left the rec. room to grieve privately in his office.

It was the last that the yellow youngling scout-in-training would hear of the mysterious gestalt for many, many vorns.

* * *

**Writing this made me feel sad, but it was all completely necessary, I assure you. Please keep the suggestions and ideas coming, I love them and try my best to incorporate them. Please, please, please review, I'm desperate here people!**


	10. Breakdown

**Hello all and thank you so much for the reviews I've received. Each one of them made me so happy. Also, thank you to those of you who voted in the poll; it's still up for those of you who didn't yet, or you can tell me your guess on the sparkling's identity in review. We are now in the '07 timeline! **Jumps up and down giddily** I was so excited to start this part. I know that this chapter kind of rambles and parts of it are very odd, but it all sets up the future chapters. This starts about a month after the events of the '07 movie. Disregard everything you know about RotF, because I'm using nothing from it. This is all AU from the end of the first movie, so people come to Earth in the order I choose, things happen when I choose, etc. Get the picture? :) From now on, all regular quotes (ex:** "blah" **) will be for things said in English. Cybertronian is now listed below.**

**Breem – 8.3 Earth minutes – Equivalent to a Cybertronian minute**

**Joor – About 6.5 Earth hours – Cybertronian hour**

**Orn – About 13 Earth days – Cybertronian day**

**Deca-Orn – About 130 Earth days – 10 orns**

**Vorn – About 83 Earth years – Cybertronian year**

**Nano-klik – About half of an Earth second**

_:: blah :: _**- gestalt link**

**Blah – Com. link**

_Blah _**– thoughts**

_"Blah"_** - Cybertronian**

_**Flare**_**: I could never kill Jazz off! Yet another thing I'm choosing to ignore. Thanks for reviewing!**

_**Koi**_**: Thanks much!**

_**Kelly**_**: Everyone BUT you appreciates long chapters. You are just being fussy. :P And thanks for FINALLY reviewing!**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Transformers or any of its characters. I do own Blitz, the gestalt, and anyone else that's not canon. The lyrics to "Breakdown" belong to Seether.**

* * *

"_**And I'm the one you can never trust  
'Cause wounds are ways to reveal us  
And yeah I could have tried and devoted my life to both of us  
But what a waste of my time when the world we have is yours"**_

_~ "Breakdown" - Seether_

_Present Day, Tranquility, California_

Miles Lancaster was feeling abandoned.

His best friend since forever, Sam Witwicky, was ignoring him in favor of the evil jock concubine and Satan's Camaro.

Every time he'd tried to visit Sam, or suggest that they go hang out, he always said that he was "busy", and then he and the jock concubine, er, _Mikaela_, would hurry off to God knew where, always being so secretive about it. When he tried talking to Sam in school, he was brushed off. Sam and Mikaela would sit there, heads together, whispering seriously about _something_, but they refused to tell him what it was, and it hurt.

A few times he could've sworn he heard them talking to the _car_, the same car that only a month ago Sam had called him to tell him about, calling it "possessed" and "Satan's Camaro". Now he was fairly sure they were calling it "Bumblebee", from what he'd overheard them saying.

Who named their car anymore? That was so '70s of them.

He wouldn't have minded though, if he'd only been included. Really, all Sam had to do was at least call him once in a while, let him know he hadn't been completely forgotten in favor of a hot girl and a hot car (which was suspiciously a lot newer looking than when he'd first seen it). It seemed that Sam had found the fast track in life, and Miles wasn't part of it.

Well, he didn't need Sam or his new car, because he was getting a car of his own.

Miles' birthday was over the summer, and he'd really wanted to have his own car before he left high school. As an early birthday gift, his parents had decided to buy him a car. Though they'd promised a _used_ car, Miles, unlike Sam, could've cared less. It would be a car, it would run, it hopefully wouldn't be too bad off, and he wasn't paying for any of it except for gas. He could live with that arrangement.

He knew it was immature of him, but he was almost jumping up and down in excitement in the backseat of his parents' car as his father drove them to the used car dealership. Sadly, it was Bobby Bolivia's place, but again, Miles could deal as long as he got a car that worked.

They pulled into the parking lot and as soon as they'd left the car, they were assaulted – _greeted_ – by the plump African American man and his fast-talking. For all of the man's money-grubbing ways, he was very personable and quite charismatic. That was probably needed to get anywhere as a used-car salesman.

"Why hello, hello, hel_lo_!" Bolivia greeted them, arms spread wide in a supposedly welcoming gesture. "What have we here? A young man looking for his first car, perhaps?"

"That's right," Laura, Miles' mother, said with a polite smile. His father, Jim, shook hands with Bolivia, and they were lead through the lot of dusty, dirty junkers that had seen better days.

Miles jumped out of the way of a biting ostrich with a very manly yelp.

"Oh, don't mind Sasha, she's just a little nippy today," Bobby said with a cheesy grin.

"W-why do you h-have an _ostrich_ on a used car lot?" Miles asked, shaking in what was _not_ fear, because he was a man, old enough not to be afraid of a stupid little _vicious_ flightless bird.

"Boy, have you ever been to a petting zoo with_out_ an ostrich?" Bolivia asked incredulously, as if an ostrich was the most normal thing in the world to find on a used car lot in California.

"Yes," Miles said bluntly.

"Well that is just wrong," Bolivia said pityingly.

"Why does a used car lot _need_ a petting zoo?" Miles pressed on.

"Boy, are you here to ask questions, or are you here to buy a car?" Bolivia asked, effectively shutting Miles up, though the teen eyed warily the sweaty, creepy looking clown that moved past him, muttering something about how it's "not his fault" that the stupid outfit scares people. This was definitely the weirdest used car lot he'd ever been to.

"Now, c'mon, we're gonna be like family here, right?" _No,_ Miles thought uneasily, _I'd really rather not._ "Anyone who buys a car from me becomes family, and I'd only give my family the best deals available."

Miles barely resisted the urge to comment on how much he must dislike his family. Then again, when he saw an elderly woman at a nearby house who looked suspiciously like Bolivia flipping off the car dealer, he felt he had a pretty good idea how Bobby's family worked. He didn't really think he wanted to be a part of it.

"Let's go look at some cars, shall we?" Bobby slung his arm around Miles' shoulders. The teen registered the fact that Bolivia needed a shower just as badly as the sweaty clown guy did.

"You see," Bolivia continued, "I have a firm belief that the driver does not choose the car – the car chooses the driver."

"Ooo-kay," Miles said, drawing out the word to show his disbelief.

"Oh, you don't believe me, huh? Well, let's see about this fine station wagon over here. Maybe it wants to choose you."

Miles highly doubted that the car was going to "choose him", and he was fairly sure that the entire thing was a ruse to get people to buy more expensive cars, simply because the cars had "chosen" them. Plus the station wagon was butt ugly.

"Um, I'm not, you know, really feeling it with this car," Miles began.

"You sure? I could've sworn I felt something. Ha, maybe it's just a bowel movement."

Miles _really_ didn't need to know that. Seriously, he could've lived his entire life without _ever _having to hear that.

"Oh honey, look at the pretty silver one!" Laura exclaimed happily. "It's so shiny!"

"Laura," Jim began admonishingly, "You can't just choose a car because it's 'silver' and 'shiny'. The make and model matters, too."

"Oh, like you have any idea what kind of car that is," Laura chided her husband, smacking his arm playfully.

Meanwhile, Miles decided to check out the "pretty silver one". Like his parents, Miles wasn't much of a car connoisseur; the title of the car didn't really bother him. If it looked good and it ran, he'd take it. This car had already won the looks part.

Like his mother had announced, it was silver and it was shiny. It had black leather seats, which while they'd be extremely hot after sitting in the sun, they were still cool to look at. Opening the door, he slid inside.

Surprisingly, the car's interior was oddly cool, even after spending so much time sitting in the sun all day. He put his hands on the driver's wheel. Well, he didn't feel anything special, but it was a cool car, and if his parents would go for it, he'd love to have it.

"How'd it feel?" Bolivia asked as Miles got out of the car.

"Um, good?" He really hoped that that was the right answer.

"I'll give it to you for the very generous offer of 4,500 dollars, considering that this car is in such lovely condition."

"How about 4,000 dollars instead?" Jim haggled.

"You, my fine sir, have got yourself a deal! Now who said that Bobby Bolivia couldn't make a deal, huh?" The man was obviously very pleased with himself. Miles was just happy to be getting the car.

"Sweetheart, isn't it _nice_?" Laura exclaimed, coming up next to Miles and running a hand over the car's hood. "I'm sure the girls will love this one. It's very fetching."

Yeah, because he wanted girls to like him because his car was "fetching". Okay, he just wanted girls to like him, period, even if climbing trees and driving "fetching" cars was what he had to do to get their attention.

Soon after, the paperwork was completed and Miles was the owner of his very own car. Waving to his parents, he grabbed the keys and slid into the car's front seat, putting the keys in the ignition and loving the sound of the engine rumbling to life. That was his freedom greeting him hello.

Driving out of the lot carefully, Miles made his way down the road, thinking about where to drive his brand new car. He decided on the lookout. He used to go there all the time with Sam; it had been their hangout, back when "bros before hoes" had meant something to his "friend". Now it was Sam's make out spot with Mikaela, but he'd heard the two of them talking about driving somewhere out of the way today, somewhere they kept calling "The Base". It was probably some new club. Anyways, it meant that Miles had the lookout all to himself today.

Reaching the lookout, Miles cut the engine and just sat for a while, enjoying the feeling of having his very own car.

"Whoo, thanks for gettin' me outta that hellhole! Every freakin' time I go to the junkyard to look for spare parts, I gotta hide 'cause _that_ nutso keeps tryin' to buy me. Didn't hide quick enough last time; I was thinkin' I was gonna have to make the great escape tonight. Thanks for gettin' me outta there, kid."

To say that Miles was shocked to hear a disembodied voice with a Southern accent coming from his car would be an understatement. First he shrieked, and then he looked around wildly for the source of the voice. When he found it was coming from his car's speakers and that the radio was turned off, he just started screaming continually.

"Stop the screamin' 'fore ya blast out my audios!" the car wailed.

Miles jumped out of the car, yelling, "Who are you? What do you want? _What_ are you?!"

"Man, you ask enough questions to be Sly when he's glitchin'," the car said, whatever _that_ meant. "_I_ am an Autobot from the planet Cybertron. In lay terms: I'm a freakin' huge alien robot from space."

With that, the car seemed to move, to shift. Gears whirred and parts slid and moved, and where Miles' car once sat there was now a giant silver robot, standing at least seventeen feet tall, if not taller. It had a visor or something on its face, covering everything but its wide grin.

Miles gave off another girlish shriek that he'd never admit to. "GIANT ALIEN ROBOT!" he screamed as loud as he could.

"Where?!" the robot shouted back, looking around wildly before stopping and laughing loudly, throwing its head back in an oddly human gesture. "Haha, that's right, it's me!" For some reason the robot thought that it was hysterical. Miles thought it was insane.

"Are you crazy?" he asked incredulously.

"Damn straight!" the giant robot exclaimed happily. "Dead serious man, completely diagnosed an' everythin'!"

"Okay," Miles said, putting his hands in front of himself and backing away from the robot slowly, never taking his eyes off of it. "I'm just going to walk away, and then I'm going to go home, and we're going to forget that any of this ever happened."

"But ya can't!" the robot wailed sadly, pouting.

"Um, why not?" Miles asked nervously.

"'Cause ya bought me! I'm yer car! I thought we were in this together, man!"

"I don't even know you!" the teenager shouted at his car-turned-robot.

"But-but - What did I do?!" the robot began wailing yet again.

"You didn't do anything," Miles said, seriously freaked out.

"Then why don't ya want me around?"

"Um, because your a giant alien robot from outer space."

"Yer point?"

"My car can't be a giant alien robot!"

"Well why not?" Talk about mood swings. Now the car-robot-thing was fine, or at least neutral.

Miles didn't really have an answer. It – or rather, _he_, considering it had a very male voice - obviously wasn't trying to kill him, or he would've tried already. If anything, he seemed almost...friendly. Maybe a little strange and definitely a lot crazy, but kind of...nice.

"I don't really know," Miles muttered, feeling like he was having a revelation.

"So can I stay?" Now the robot was like a big, okay huge puppy, rocking back and forth on his feet excitedly. Miles could even see a light coming through the visor-thing that must have been from his eyes.

"Uh, yeah, I guess so." Miles rubbed the back of his head. "My parents would think it was a little weird if I didn't come home with my brand new car."

"Yes!" the robot pulled his fist back and pumped it in the air happily.

"Why are you so excited to be stuck with me?"

"Frankly, I have no idea. Probably just 'cause after thousands o' years wanderin' 'round doin' the same old stuff all the time, I got somethin' new, ya know, get to shake it up a bit."

"You've been around for thousands of years?!" Miles' eyes almost bugged out of his head. "Dude, how old _are_ you?"

The robot laughed. "Man, my kind, we live for billions of yer Earth years. It would take a while to calculate it all. Let's just say, in Earth terms, I'm 'round yer age."

"Seriously?!"

"Yep! Wanna see my holoform? It reflects what my age would be if I was human."

"What the hell is a 'holoform'?" Miles asked.

"It's what us Cybertronians use to blend in with humans! Ya didn't expect us to run 'round as giant robots or cars without drivers all the time, did ya? Man, me an' my bros got here back in Greek times – could ya imagine what a giant robot or car woulda been like then? Trust me, it would've totally blown our cover."

"You've been here for that long?" Miles couldn't imagine living that long.

"Yeah." The robot looked sad, if giant robots can look sad. "Me and my bros – I'll have to introduce ya to them – anyways, we kinda got crash landed here after we had to eject from our ship, or we woulda died. It was a long time ago, but I kinda miss our old friends."

Suddenly brightening up, probably wanting to change the subject, the robot said, "I can't believe I haven't introduced myself yet! Name's Crash, Autobot field medic."

"My car's name is Crash. That sounds safe. I'm Miles Lancaster."

"Well hi, Miles Lancaster." Suddenly there was a guy around his age standing in front of him, shaking his hand. He was taller than Miles, with brown hair in a buzz cut and bright electric blue eyes, wearing a pair of ratty jeans, scuffed combat boots, and an open black button-down jacket with the collar turned up and a plain white t-shirt under it.

"Crash?" Miles breathed, checking to see that yeah, the giant robot was still there.

"The one an' only!" the guy in front of him exclaimed jovially, turning in a circle. "So what do ya think, do I look good or do I look _good_?"

"Um, you look great, I guess."

"Aw, thanks man!" Suddenly he was being hugged. Okay, this was the epitome of weird. Pulling back, Crash looked at the darkening sky.

"It's gettin' late; we should get goin'. Don't wanna worry yer parents too much, they look like nice people." He had a wistful look on his face, but he soon snapped out of it. "C'mon!" With that, Crash disappeared – or, at least, human Crash did. Robot Crash was turning back into a car, and it still held Miles in awe. In one fluid motion, the giant robot was the same silver car he'd bought from Bobby Bolivia.

The honking of the car's horn shocked him out of his thoughts. "C'mon man, we're burnin' daylight!" his new car called. Knowing he was grinning like a loon, Miles slid into the driver's seat of his car, his new friend.

* * *

Bright and early Saturday morning, Bumblebee and Sam left for the new Autobot base, picking up Mikaela on the way, of course. After the events of Mission City a month ago, the American government had decided to give the Autobots an old military base in the desert to use as their base of operations. It was a little over an hour from Tranquility, so they left early that morning so they wouldn't be late.

Surprisingly enough, Optimus Prime's message to the Autobots got its first answer two weeks after it was sent out. A group of Autobots arrived, consisting of Hound, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker (Ratchet had shuddered nervously) and, oddly, Perceptor, the latter of which was fascinated by Earth, but kept complaining about not having any of the equipment that he did on the Ark.

Well, his complaints had been answered, as a large ship that could only be the Ark had recently entered the planet's atmosphere, and was due to land today at the coordinates Prime had specified in his message. From what the others had said, most of the Ark's crew wasn't on the ship, due to reasons Bee didn't quite understand, but they were told that six mechs had stayed aboard the ship, which six, none of them would say, in fact, they just smiled conspiratorially at each other.

Reaching the Autobot's base, Sam, Mikaela and Bee were greeted by the rest of the Autobots, as well as Captain Will Lennox, at the gate.

"Oh good, you're here," Prime greeted. "We're ready to set out – if our calculations are correct, the Ark should be landing in about ten Earth minutes. Autobots, follow me." With that, Optimus transformed into his alt mode of a Peterbilt semi-truck and lead the Autobots to the designated landing zone a few miles away.

They all transformed back into their bipedal modes, Ironhide carefully placing Will on his shoulder while Bee did the same with his own charges. The twin terrors kept snickering all the while, and even Hound had a small grin, which was surprising.

Bee didn't know exactly what had happened, considering nobody would tell him, but from what he'd overheard, Hound had lost someone close to him when Bee was younger, and he'd never fully recovered from it. Bumblebee thought Hound seemed like a fairly happy mech, but everyone else would say things about how he "wasn't the same" after "it" happened.

"Hey, I think I see something!" Mikaela exclaimed, pointing at the sky. Sure enough, in the distance there was a speck, a rapidly growing speck.

Unlike when the Autobots had landed, the Ark could actually be flown into the atmosphere and land normally, no flames necessary. Everyone watched as the ship neared ever closer. The closer it was, the more they noticed that it was moving jerkily back and forth, as if it was being flown by an untrained pilot. This was odd, because Teletraan 1 usually did all of the flying.

As the Ark came in for a landing, it hovered in the air and then suddenly moved forward before jerking back again. It was like watching a nervous human teenager take a driver's test. The ship suddenly dropped down before moving backwards again, shaking all the while like it was going to blow. Then, unceremoniously, it dropped the rest of the way to the ground with a large 'THUD', kicking up sand and blowing it on everyone present.

"What is Teletraan _doing_?" Ironhide muttered irritably.

The dust began to clear and the assembled group could see a large mech exiting the Ark, but the sand hadn't settled yet enough for them to make out who it was.

"_Us Dinobots make good pilots."_ A voice stated in Cybertronian.

Well now they knew who it was.

"_Grimlock?!"_ Ratchet exclaimed, voice filled with incredulity.

"_Yes?"_ the figure asked coming to stand in front of the medic.

"Oh slag," Ironhide muttered. "The _Dinobots_ were piloting the Ark?!"

"What's going on?" Sam asked Bee.

"Well," the yellow scout began, "The Dinobots were piloting the Ark." Ratchet had recently repaired his vocal processes. His voice was still a little scratchy, but it was better than nothing.

"So?" his charge asked.

"Um, well, the Dinobots aren't exactly...I'll explain later," he muttered, and was thankful that Sam didn't continue asking questions.

"_Hi everybody!"_ a voice called from the Ark, and they turned to see a waving 'bot flanked by four huge mechs about Grimlock's size. The only problem with the waving mech was that he was waving his arm quite literally: in his left arm he held his severed right arm, which he waved at them cheerily.

"_Wheeljack you idiot!"_ Ratchet shouted as the remaining 'bots approached the group. _"What the slag did you do to yourself this time? Why were the Dinobots piloting the Ark?!"_

"_It's not my fault!"_ the inventor yelped defensively. _"Teletraan was being fussy and wasn't flying the ship very well, so we had to do things manually, and I sort of got my arm blown off, as you can see, so the Dinobots had to fly the Ark while I supervised them. They're pretty good with proper instruction."_ The Dinobots stood straighter and preened at the compliment to their piloting prowess.

"Pretty good my aft," Ironhide scoffed. The twins just chuckled.

"You knew about this?" the weapons specialist growled. He only received more laughs, which he took as a "yes".

"What's going on?" Sam asked once again. Bee relayed the situation as well as he could.

Prime then greeted the newcomers and asked that they switch to English for the benefit of their human comrades by learning it from the World Wide Web. The Dinobots did so grudgingly.

"Me Grimlock no see why we Dinobots must talk different for good of weakling squishies," the Dinobot leader stated bluntly, never one to hide his thoughts. "Me Grimlock could crush squishies easily."

"They are our friends, Grimlock," Optimus explained patiently.

Swoop approached the humans on Bumblebee's shoulder and studied them with almost as much interest as Perceptor had shown, while the others seemed to pay them no mind, other than to scoff at them.

Checking out the assembled group, Grimlock asked, "Where him Jazz?"

Moving from where he'd been assessing the damage Wheeljack had sustained, Ratchet spoke softly (for him), "Jazz was harmed in a recent battle against the Decepticons. He fought against Megatron himself, and was badly damaged. I've been doing my best to repair him, but he was ripped in half and his spark is weak. My guess is that it would take a direct link to his spark to bring him back online, even after he's repaired. We'll have to wait for Prowl for that."

Explaining the current situation further, Optimus said, "Megatron is dead. We are working with the government of this country, the United States of America. They have kindly given us a base nearby to use."

The Dinobots we're slightly put out that a huge battle had gone down and they'd missed it, but they said nothing. Even if Megatron was gone, there were always other Decepticons to kill.

A noise suddenly drew everyone's attention. They all turned to a blushing Mikaela, who said apologetically, "Sorry, it's my cell phone. I'll just turn it off-"

"No!" Swoop shouted, coming closer to her. "Keep playing."

Everyone paused to listen to the song that the cell phone played. The song was quiet, due to the small size of the speakers, and the sound was canned, but the small section of lyrics from the chorus of a song could be heard playing on repeat as ringtones do.

_So break me down if it makes you feel right (so break me down)  
And hate me now if it keeps you alright (so break me down)  
You can't break me down if it takes all your might  
'Cause I'm so much more than meets the eye_

Finally the song stopped playing as the caller hung up.

"What's the big deal?" Sunstreaker questioned, arms crossed over his chest in annoyance.

"Me Swoop know that song," the Dinobot murmured, optics wide.

"So?" Sunstreaker asked, before he realized the ramifications of Swoop's statement.

"Wait, how can you know that song?" Lennox spoke up from his place on 'Hide's shoulder. "You only just got here."

Swoop looked toward Ratchet meaningfully. "Another medic liked that song," was all Swoop would say, trying to jog the CMO's memory chips. It hit Ratchet like a ton of bricks.

"No, it's impossible," Ratchet muttered to himself. "The signal went out so long ago...but he _did_ say future..."

Turning to the Autobot leader who was waiting for an answer, the medic said, astounded, "Crash liked that song."

"You must be mistaken," Optimus said, though he'd heard of the field medic's "wormhole theory" before.

"No, it was definitely the same." Pulling up and old audio recording, Ratchet played back the same song, the sound of himself shouting at somebody in Cybertronian clear in the background.

Looking at the humans, Ratchet said, "That recording was made millions of Earth years ago."

"But how-"

Sam didn't get to finish his question before Hound said, a look of genuine hope in his optics, "They could be alive."

* * *

**For those who don't understand that conclusion, let me explain it for you: Crash heard songs through radio waves that passed through his wormhole from the future. He could only hear the songs if he was hearing them himself in the future. If Crash heard a song that was from Earth in the present day, then he'd have to be alive on Earth to hear it, should the wormhole theory hold true. If it was correct, then that would mean that at least Crash was alive, and where you find one of the gestalt, you find the others. I hope that makes some semblance of sense! I love all of the reviews I've received so far, please keep them coming – each one motivates me to write!**


	11. For You

**New longest chapter!!! I honestly didn't mean for it to be this long. I had a list of things that I planned to put into this chapter, and I didn't want to half-ass any of it, so the chapter just ended up this long. Hmm, what happens here? Well, Sly peels vegetables, gourds are thrown, the gestalt takes up residence in a button factory, a game of glorified dodgeball is played, and Blitz learns that his creators are in love. All in a day's work! ;) Enjoy!**

**Breem – 8.3 Earth minutes – Equivalent to a Cybertronian minute**

**Joor – About 6.5 Earth hours – Cybertronian hour**

**Orn – About 13 Earth days – Cybertronian day**

**Deca-Orn – About 130 Earth days – 10 orns**

**Vorn – About 83 Earth years – Cybertronian year**

**Nano-klik – About half of an Earth second**

_:: blah :: _**- gestalt link**

**Blah – Com. link**

_Blah _**– thoughts**

"_Blah" _**– Cybertronian**

_**Koi**_**: Thanks so much!**

_**Kelly**_**: I already chewed you out for your improper assumptions! And before you comment, I did base much of this off of school life. And yes, while watching the movie, I did hold my breath while the clown was onscreen.**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Transformers or any of its characters. I do own Blitz, the gestalt, and anyone else that's not canon. The lyrics to "For You" belong to Staind.**

* * *

"_**To my mother, To my father**_

_**It's your son or it's your daughter**_

_**Are my screams loud enough for you to hear me?**_

_**Should I turn this up for you?"**_

_~ "For You" - Staind_

"So what was all that about on Saturday?" Mikaela asked Sam before school started on Monday. Despite popular belief, the two of them weren't dating. They'd kissed a few times, mostly right after the events of Mission City, but they'd found that they seemed better as friends. Their friendship, though, was a close one, the kind that's often formed by catastrophic events.

"I don't know; nobody will tell me. Hell, nobody will tell _Bee_. Whatever it was about, that guy they mentioned, Crash, seems to be someone that had come and gone from the Ark before Bumblebee was taken aboard, from what he could tell. Everybody seems to know what this whole situation is about, even the Dinobots. Will said that Ironhide won't tell him what's going on, either." Sam leaned against Bumblebee's hood, crossing his arms across his chest, firmly telling himself that he _was not_ pouting at being kept out of the loop.

"I think we should respect their privacy, Sam," Mikaela said, leaning next to him. "You heard what Hound said: 'They could be alive.' I think that maybe that this guy Crash having 'come and gone' was probably more like he died. Actually, Hound did say 'they', so they're hoping that more than one person is alive. We should stay out of this and let them deal – if these guys don't turn out to be alive, it could break them. If nobody wants to tell us, maybe it's best to let them be. We don't want to help get any hopes up. Whoa, nice cars!"

Turning, Sam saw what Mikaela was looking at – a silver car entered the parking lot, sparkling clean in a way that would've made Sunstreaker proud. Behind it came another car, this one some sort of racing model, a light, shimmering gray with orange around the wheel wells as well as on the side view mirrors and spoiler. The cars pulled in to spaces a couple over from where Bumblebee was parked.

The driver's side door on the smaller gray and orange car opened to reveal a guy about their age, possibly younger by the look in his eyes. He was of short, small stature with odd blue-gray eyes and chocolate brown hair kept on the longer side; yet his hair wasn't as long as that of the guy who stepped out of the passenger door.

That guy was pretty tall – Sam would probably be up to his shoulder – with Viking blond hair that had to be tied back in a ponytail, it was so long, and crystal blue eyes. Sam didn't want to admit it, but he was more than a little intimidated; the guy looked like he could crush him with one hand, he was so muscular. Despite his size, the guy looked anxious, which was a step up from his friend, who appeared to be full-out hyperventilating.

The blond muttered something to his companion. That seemed to calm him down a bit, but he still kept a wary eye on their surroundings.

The back door of the same car flew open and someone literally jumped out of the seat in an arcing motion. It was yet another teen, this one a bit shorter than the blond, yet still a lot taller than Sam. He had dark hair in a buzz cut, blue eyes that seemed to almost crackle with electricity, and a pair of silver, mirrored sunglasses perched on top of his head. As he stood, he flicked them down over his eyes before smiling crookedly and looking around, nodding as if something satisfied him, before approaching the other car.

Sam turned to see someone exiting the silver car. It was...

...Miles?!

* * *

Miles slid out of Crash's alt mode, only to be greeted by the mech's holoform, glasses already intact. After the first time he'd seen Crash's holoform, it always showed up in the same damn pair of mirrored silver sunglasses. According to the gestalt (and Crash himself), they were his trademark, just as Phantom's was his long black leather duster, and Blitz's was his vintage brown leather bomber jacket.

On their way back to Miles' house Saturday, Crash had begun to tell him of his home planet, Cybertron, and the war that had been raging between the Autobots, Crash's faction, and the Decepticons for as long as the medic could remember. Miles had been surprised that Crash was a medic; he certainly didn't have the alt mode (another thing Crash had told him about) of someone with a medical profession. As Crash had described it, not all medics needed an alt mode to fit their profession, though most had one, anyway. Also, being a field medic, which he described as being like a "medical MacGyver", he often wasn't transporting patients himself.

It had taken a while for Crash to explain to Miles about the gestalt; hell, it had taken a while for Miles to wrap his head around the idea of bonded couples and being sexually ambiguous, let alone gestalt or trine bonds. Trying to explain how some gestalt bonds were of romantic natures – well, Crash had given up on that when Miles' right eye started twitching like Sly's when he was glitching; he'd save that explanation for another day.

All the information on every possible subject of Cybertronian existence had been hard for Miles to handle in one sitting. He decided to sleep on it, after promising Crash that he'd come with him the next day to be introduced to his "brothers", another concept that he found confusing.

Sunday had proved to be...interesting, and Miles had made a few new...friends. Crash drove them out to an old, seemingly abandoned button factory on the edge of town. Despite the building's outward appearance, it looked completely different on the inside.

The interior appeared to have been gutted, as most of the machines had been shoved to a corner, sitting dejectedly with piles of scrap metal that Crash had mentioned finding in the junkyard, all of which he used for repairs and such. There were stains covering the floor, ranging from old oil stains to marks from where the machinery used to lay. Along with the marks on the floor, there were countless plastic buttons, all ranging in shape, color, and design. Most of these had, too, been kicked to the side of the room, as the rest of the factory looked oddly...modern.

A small, human-sized kitchen area had been set up in a back corner, with a lounge area set up adjacent to it. Dominating the structure were the three vehicles – Cybertronians – all in what Miles had come to understand were alt modes, like Crash's as a car.

One was a compact gray and orange sports car, and another was a large black SUV, the kind that Miles expected a secret undercover government agent would drive. The third wasn't a car at all, but a jet, military grade from its appearance. Miles remembered Crash mentioning his "brother" Blitz being some sort of an F-22, the kind of jet that the military used. It didn't look very professional, though, considering the thin blue lines covering the paint that could only be for decorative purposes.

Miles got out of Crash's alt mode and the mech (as he'd learned the "males" of the species were called) moved to park beside the SUV. As soon as Crash's holoform flickered into place, a projectile flew through the air and smacked the medic in the head, knocking the brunet teen over. A maniacal laugh could be heard echoing though the structure.

"What the hell?" Miles whispered, feeling more than a little nervous as Crash groaned from his position on the floor.

"Nice!" a voice called from the lounge area, where Miles spied a couch with two figures on it, neither turning around to see the action as they were engrossed in their video game on the huge flat-screen TV in front of them. He wasn't sure which one had spoken.

"Good aim!" agreed a voice from the kitchen.

"What is going _on_ here?" Miles asked nobody in particular.

"What _isn't_ going on here?" a deep voice asked next to his ear.

Shrieking in a very manly fashion, Miles spun around to see...nothing?

"Over here," the voice called. Miles turned towards it, only to find empty space.

Miles was really getting freaked out now. Crash had insisted that his gestalt wouldn't harm him, but now he wasn't feeling so sure.

"Van," Crash moaned from his place on the floor, turning over so his voice was no longer muffled by the pavement. "Leave 'im 'lone." The fall had made his accent thicker, if that was possible.

"I was just messing with him," the voice huffed. This time when Miles tried to locate its source, he found a tall guy, maybe a little older than himself, standing in front of him. He had a dark complexion, almost like a natural tan, with unruly spiked black hair and odd purple-y eyes that kind of unnerved Miles. The guy wore a black leather trench coat – a duster, if he recalled the proper name correctly – under which he wore, surprisingly, more black.

"Yeah, well don't," Crash grumbled, standing from the floor and dusting himself off, tossing away a button that had gotten caught on his clothing. He rubbed his head and looked to see what he'd been assaulted with. "What was that?"

"Butternut squash," the boy – man, really – responded bluntly, pointing to the offending gourd on the ground.

"I thought we agreed that we wouldn't use produce anymore!" Crash whined.

"I saw it and I just knew that it had to be thrown at somebody," the man said, shrugging as if his explanation made sense as to why he'd attacked the medic with a gourd. "Blame Kitten for making me go shopping with him."

"Then you wouldn't be eating, would you?" called a voice from the dimly lit kitchen area. Glancing in that direction, Miles could see a short, brown haired figure doing something on an island counter.

"I thought that gourds were out of season," Crash commented, approaching the kitchen with the older guy in tow. Miles had no choice but to follow.

"Not if you know where to look," the brown haired boy responded, not looking up from what he was doing.

"Oh, introductions!" Crash exclaimed. Grabbing Miles' arm, he pulled him forward so they were standing next to each other, across from the other two, the older of which had jumped up to sit on the counter.

"Miles, this is Phantom, sometimes referred to as Van," Crash gestured to the one sitting on the counter, who grunted at him in lieu of greeting. "And this is Sly, short for Slysight." He pointed to the boy at the counter, who waved cheerily in return.

"If we're usin' our holoforms in public, then Phantom is called Shane Rasch, and Sly is Cooper Morgan, in case ya need to know," Crash supplied.

"What about you?" Miles asked. He'd yet to hear the name of Crash's holoform.

"Duh!" the medic face-palmed. "Can't believe I haven't told ya yet! Musta slipped my mind, what with tryin' to explain the whole situation and all. Just call me Nat, Nathaniel Loch."

Nodding, another thought hit Miles. "Wait, didn't you say that Phantom was Nightshade's glit – er, other personality? How could he be here?"

Crash chuckled, and Phantom nodded approvingly at Miles' self-correction. Phantom said, "Considering that Shaders and I are two separate entities, we can also have separate holoforms – one personality per holoform. Also, if one of us is in our holoform and the other isn't, then the one who's in our normal mech form automatically takes control of the body. We can also both be using our holoforms at once. It's pretty simple, really. Look, I'll show you. Yo Shaders, get your ass over here!"

Miles heard a loud sigh as one of the figures from the couch stood, pulling the other, shorter person up with him. The two came forward and Miles got a good look at them.

The taller one who'd sighed had long blond hair and the seemingly prerequisite bright blue Autobot eyes that only Phantom had so far gone against.

The other was shorter than Miles, though still a little bit taller than Slysight. He had dirty blond hair about the same length as Sly's, tufts of naturally darker brown hair scattered through the blond. Again he had blue eyes, but there was something preternatural about them, more so than the others. One of them was brighter than the other, an almost sea-green shade. Miles found his eyes scary but entrancing – he couldn't look away. It was like the kind of feeling one gets while watching a car crash in slow motion – horrible, but impossible to turn from. The eyes continued boring into him until Crash admonished, "Blitzy, stop scarin' the new kid."

Miles looked down, embarrassed to have stared. The other – Blitz, who was the silent jet if he remembered correctly – didn't seem to care.

"It's nice to meet you, Miles," the tall blond said politely, shaking hands with Miles. The teen was confused, but then remembered that the gestalt had their link and already expected him, so of course they'd know his name. The blond continued, "My designation is Nightshade, though most call me some abbreviation of that – Night, 'Shade, Shaders, and the like. You can call me whatever you'd like. My holoform is called Gabriel Stronst, or Gabe, more commonly."

The blond-now-known-as-Nightshade gestured towards the smaller blond and introduced him. "This is Blitz, as I'm sure you've guessed. He barely goes into public, so we don't really need a name for his holoform, but just in case, it's Alexander Livingston. It's not really creative, as you can tell, but he just really doesn't care. I hope that Crash has made you aware of the full situation?" Miles assumed he meant Blitz's never-talking-ever thing, but if he meant the war of Cybertron, he knew all about that now, too, so he just nodded. "Good."

"You eat yet?" Slysight asked as he began to...peel potatoes?

"Um, no, I was planning on grabbing something on the way home-"

"'Kay, I'll make enough for you, too." Miles didn't really know how to react to that, so he just nodded again.

"Why do you guys need to eat, ah, _human_ food if you're, you know...giant robots?" Miles felt his cheeks flush more with every word, and he suddenly found the floor to be absolutely fascinating.

"Let's put it this way, kiddo," Phantom began, still lounging on the counter. "We were originally sent here to look for energon. You see any glowing pink stuff anywhere? No? Well neither did we. We have to live off of something, and Earth fuel sources don't always cut it all the way. Gas prices are a bitch; we can't live off of only that, or we'd be broke. Not that we really pay for much to start with, but you catch my drift. So, kiddo, we had to find some other way to sustain ourselves. If we have to eat human food through our holoforms, so be it. We're alive, and that's all that matters in the long run."

"Could you, um, _not_ call me 'kiddo'?" Miles asked nervously, not wanting to be mauled by a mech whose own brother had described as "a tad bit violent".

"No, I quite like it," Phantom mused. "It's that or squishy. Squishy sounds like a good name for you. I think I'll keep both." Miles would have protested, but when he saw Phantom stroking something sticking out of his pocket that looked an awful lot like a gun, he shut up and sucked it up.

"Stop stroking the damn gun and whip these for me," Slysight told Phantom, handing him a pot of peeled, cut-up potatoes and milk, along with an electric beater.

At Phantom's look, he added, "Do it or I'm not feeding you." That got him moving, Miles noted ruefully.

Nightshade took a seat on one of the stools stationed at the counter, and gestured to Miles to take the other one. Looking towards Crash, he said, "We'll be fine here. Go beat Blitz for me; he's been kicking my ass at that game all day." Crash nodded, recognizing the dismissal for what it was, and for once accepting it gracefully. He grabbed Blitz's arm and tugged him along to the couch, already trash-talking him. Blitz rolled his eyes in return, obviously not believing any of it.

Miles sat gingerly, not sure why the gestalt leader would want to talk to him privately. Nightshade must have picked up on his discomfort, because he cracked a grin and said, "Hey now, I'm not going to hurt you. As Crash would say, that's not how we roll." The teen couldn't help but grin at that.

"I hope that we can trust you to keep our existence secret?"

Miles nodded vigorously, saying, "Yeah, of course!"

"Good." Nightshade nodded, pleased. "I'd like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind."

Baffled, Miles could only say, "Um, sure, go ahead."

"Thank you. As I'm sure you've realized we weren't always here in Tranquility. I assume you've heard of what happened in Mission City not too long ago?"

"Yeah, a huge fight or something. Half the downtown area was destroyed or in shambles. Nobody knows what really happened, because the government seems to be trying to keep real quiet about it. Some think it was a conspiracy or terrorist attack, and others say that it was a military exercise gone wrong, because people claimed to see military jets flying around, and some other heavy-artillery vehicles. Some even claimed to see....giant robots. Wait, were those really giant robots? Like, were they other Cybertronians?"

Nightshade smiled grimly. "We don't know for sure, but we think they may have been. Miles, if those really were other Cybertronians...there are huge implications to that. Crash told you that we've been on Earth for a long time. We spent a few million years in stasis lock – something like a human coma. We awoke when ancient Greece was in its prime, and lived out of our holoforms until technology caught up enough that we could take on alt modes. Miles, we haven't had contact with other Cybertronians since we landed on Earth. Actually, we haven't had contact with others of our kind for millions of Earth years before we made planetfall. If others of our kind have landed on Earth... Miles, we have no other family outside of our gestalt other than the other Autobots. We have friends...some of us have what you humans might call...boyfriends. To be reunited with the others...Primus, we just hope that they're all alive. It would mean so much to us to be able to see everybody again."

"But, if those were the Autobots – um, 'Shade, why would they have been fighting?" Miles wasn't completely comfortable with the nicknames yet.

"That means the Decepticons must be here as well." Night still sounded grim. "Why they'd be fighting, well, they'll fight without provocation, but we believe that there must be something that drew them here to California. The Mission City battle combined with odd signals and traces being found in and around Tranquility leads us to believe that Cybertronians must be in the area. After hearing of the events of Mission City, we moved here hoping to find out more. So far we haven't found anything. We were sort of hoping that you'd be willing to help us out?" Miles was surprised to see the so-far professional gestalt leader looking at him pleadingly.

"Um, yeah, sure, though I'm not sure how I could."

"You could keep an optic, er, an eye out to watch for anything suspicious. Watch around your school and such for anything. Vehicles without drivers, people that look like they're flickering, things like that."

Miles nodded again, and they sat in silence. He noticed the gestalt leader fiddling with a button he'd pulled from a pocket, rubbing it between his fingers nervously.

He decided to breach the question, "What's with the buttons?"

"Hm?" Miles had taken the other blond by surprise. "Oh, the factory used to make them. After it was closed down, it was abandoned; nobody ever cleaned it up, so there are buttons all over. We just shove most of them to the side. Sometimes one of the guys makes stuff out of them. Blitz got really bored once and started making wash-cloth bunnies and then attaching button eyes to them. See?" He pointed towards a shelf on the wall where a legion of terrycloth rabbits sat, staring at them with adorable mismatched button eyes.

"Blitz will do anything when he's bored. He refuses to go out with us most times, so we usually have to find something for him to do. We can get really far away from our true forms in our holoforms, but we find it a little disconcerting to be away from them for too long, though we've spent years away at times. It's not exactly easy to have an F-22 wandering around Tranquility, so he spends most of his time holed up here. As for the rest of us, we do odd jobs. Phantom has a steady job as a mechanic; that plus our old savings are all that we live off of. We did pretty well in the stock market a while back. And they said that IBM wouldn't last."

"Is dinner ready yet?" For once, Miles was able to keep from screaming when his self-appointed guardian suddenly appeared in his field of vision, sunglasses perched on his head at a jaunty angle, dragging a silently snickering Blitz with him. Miles was surprised at the show of emotion, and then wondered how easy it was to laugh silently.

"Just about," Sly replied, shoving Phantom out of the way to pull a freaking huge turkey out of the oven. Smirking at Miles as he began to cut it, he said, "These guys eat enough, it's like I have to make Thanksgiving dinner all year 'round."

Again Miles nodded. Why did he keep nodding at everything? He wasn't sure.

They ate in silence, each in their own world. That silence was broken when Crash declared, "We should go to school with Miles."

Wiping sprayed mashed potatoes off of his face, Blitz raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?" Sly asked, amused.

"C'mon, we ain't gone to high school in a helluva long time. Why not?" Crash looked around pleadingly. Everyone looked to Nightshade to see his take on the subject. He was the boss, though they almost never acted like it. What he said went.

"He's right," Shaders grinned slyly. Crash whooped in joy. "We could give it a go again. Whoever wants to can go."

"Well, I'm out," Phantom said. "I, unlike you idiots, have a job."

"B-litz?" Crash asked, using his best puppy-dog eyes on his best friend, though they may have been canceled out by his use of one of Blitz's least favorite nicknames. The seeker grabbed one of his ever-present notebooks and jotted something on it before sliding it across the table for Nightshade to read aloud.

"'I'm not doing high school again; I hate having to go along with everyone thinking I'm mute so I don't have to talk. Then they keep expecting me to write shit down for them as an answer. It's annoying and I can barely keep myself from ripping their faces off and making them eat them backwards. So, no, I won't be going. I plan on doing more reconnaissance in the area tomorrow to see if I can't track down any 'Cons or other Cybertronians. Since you slaggers aren't really trying, one of us has to.'"

"How pleasant of you," Nightshade commented when he finished reading. He slid the notebook back to his brother.

"I try," pouted Crash.

"Sure you do," Phantom muttered, shoveling mashed potatoes into his mouth like his very existence depended on it directly. What could he say, he was a growing glitch.

"Sly, you in?" Nightshade asked, as he planned on going already. Somebody had to watch Crash.

"I guess," the Special Operations mech sighed. "We all know you guys think I need to 'assimilate with my peer group' outside of the gestalt."

"Well, let's see, do ya still think that everyone's got a personal vendetta against ya?" Crash asked sarcastically.

"They do," Sly muttered, narrowed eyes downcast.

"Then there ya have it!" the medic exclaimed, leaning back in his chair. "Assimilate away!"

And now here they were, the gestalt having decided to drive in Slysight's alt mode (or in Crash's case, appear there when they were entering the parking lot; thank Primus for tinted windows) as to not create too much suspicion. After all, Miles wouldn't be driving people he'd supposedly just met over the weekend, and Nightshade's alt mode wasn't very inconspicuous. Not that Sly's was much better.

Miles looked up at his new guardian who was grinning like an idiot and a step away from jumping up and down in excitement. The holoform chuckled and informed him quietly, "We haven't done high school since the early '90s. I'm so excited; can ya tell?"

The teen only laughed in response. Slysight was looking around shiftily, not trusting anyone there. 'Shade clapped his hands together nervously and said, "Okay, let's do this. Where's the office?"

Miles just laughed some more and led the gestalt to the main office, where they'd receive their new schedules and maps, having "pulled some strings" in the system to "speed up" the admissions process.

As he walked with the gestalt, Miles noticed in his peripheral vision that his supposed best friend and his jock concubine were gaping at him from their places against Satan's Camaro. Well, good. Now Sam would know how it felt to be replaced. Not that he was using the gestalt, he really did think of them as friends. They were a lot nicer to him than most of the people in the school.

Then again, they were somewhat socially impaired, so not realizing that Miles was a social outcast who lowered one's status on the feeding chain was a given. Not that Miles was really itching to inform them of his geeky-ness. They'd realize it soon enough.

The group exited the main office, studying their new schedules intently.

"Why are you taking 'General Anatomy and Physiology'?" Miles asked Crash as he read over his shoulder.

"'Cause I like to show off," the medic chuckled. "Got to have some way to explain my mad medic skills. That's skills with a 'z', by the way."

"I think you forgot a 'yo' somewhere in that sentence," Slysight muttered in a snarky manner. Crash gave him a smarmy grin.

"He's got more medical degrees than you'd believe," Nightshade murmured to Miles, "From more eras than one can imagine."

"What electives are you guys taking?" Miles asked. They all consulted their schedules, not remembering what they'd put in for.

Night said, "I've got 'Public Speaking' and something called 'History Through Film'."

"I've heard of that course," Miles said. "You watch a historical fiction movie, and then you take a multiple choice test on it. Everyone says it's one of the easiest courses offered."

Nightshade nodded. He'd chosen the course simply because he enjoyed seeing how humans believed their ancestors had lived. The gestalt often watched historical movies just to laugh at how wrong they were.

"'Psychology', 'Sociology', and 'Astronomy'," Slysight read. At the others' looks, he questioned, "What? Is it so bad to want to see how humans perceive one's psychosis? As for the Astronomy, well, it's fun to know more than the teachers." He held the same guilty-but-happy look that his brothers did.

"'AP Computer Science' and 'AP Biology'," Crash read smugly.

"Show off," Miles muttered.

"Ya know it!" Crash exclaimed jovially.

"Do I have _any_ classes with you guys?" Sly asked glumly. Due to his appearance, he had been enrolled as a junior, as opposed to a senior like Miles and his brothers.

They all compared schedules. "Hey, we've all got gym together!" Crash called out loudly, drawing attention from passersby.

Inwardly, Miles groaned. Great, now they'd all know how inept he was.

The brothers had lunch together, which was good, but it wasn't the same period as Miles' lunch, so he was still stuck with Sam and Mikaela. He didn't mind Sam, it was the concubine in a seven year old girl's clothing who bothered him.

The warning bell rang, and the Hall Nazis – er, Hall _Monitors_ were harassing everybody to get to class, though they had a good five to ten minutes left before school officially started.

Sighing, they bid each other goodbye and slunk off to their respective classes, Slysight almost getting pummeled by some jocks when he walked into them, eyes glued to his map as he tried to stumble his way to his first class. Employing the same techniques he had used on Mirage so many millions of years ago, he whipped a book at the advancing jock, hit him in the chest, ran, scooped it up, and made like Unicron was after him to his first class of the day.

At lunch the gestalt sat alone, excitedly regaling each other with tales of their experiences. Miles, on the other hand, suffered through twenty questions with Sam and Mikaela, having to insist to them that he met them at the park over the weekend, they were new to the area, yes they were his friends, yes his parents did buy him a new car, no he didn't tell Sam about it because he didn't want to disturb him and Mikaela, yes he knew that they were just friends now, and so on.

Physical Education, more commonly known as gym by, well, everybody, was the last period of the day, a class shared by not only the gestalt and Miles, but also Sam and Trent DeMarco, the bane of Miles' existence. Everybody was expected to change (thankfully they'd done away with the terrible uniforms a few years back) into a t-shirt and some sort of athletic bottoms. The gestalt, being that it was their first day, weren't forced to change, though they were informed of "gym etiquette" and told of the rules of the class.

"Okay everybody, settle down!" the gym teacher, Ms. Frond, called out. "I said SETTLE!"

"Lightfire much?" Crash whispered to his brothers, who snickered in response.

"Something funny here, new kid?" the teacher said, approaching slowly, bouncing a large red rubber ball in one hand.

"No ma'am," Crash responded respectfully, his face the picture of innocence.

"Good," Frond barked. "You don't want to be my enemy, boy." She then turned to the class as a whole.

"Today, class, we are going to play a game called Asteroids." The gestalt shared looks, barely veiling their amusement. Oh if these humans only knew what _real_ asteroids were like.

"You will be split into two teams. Each team will have one half of the gym. There will be balls like this one on the centerline. When I blow my whistle, you will grab a ball, which is an asteroid, and you will try to launch your asteroid at the enemy team. If you are hit with the asteroid, you're blown up and you will sit on the sidelines. If you catch an asteroid, then the thrower is out and you can call one of your teammates back in. When everyone on a team has been exploded, you have won the space war, and the game is over. Any questions?"

Sly's hand was as high as he could get it. "You, the one with the girly last name. Morgan!"

"Um, ma'am? Isn't this dodgeball?"

"No, Morgan, this is ASTEROIDS, I already told you that! We do not play dodgeball here! The district does not condone it, because they're prissy and too many whiny parents were complaining! That is why we play Asteroids!"

"With all due respect, ma'am, this game is incorrect," Slysight said.

"What are you talking about?" Frond demanded, eyes narrowed. She obviously didn't like Slysight, or rather, she didn't like Cooper Morgan.

"Well, actual asteroids would have incinerated you at a much farther distance, and their impact would not 'make you explode'. Not even being hit with an asteroid can cause spontaneous combustion. Rather, it would flatten you instantly, if you hadn't already been burned up, and your remains would be adhered unrecognizably to the surface of the asteroid, and you'd be crushed. This is all assuming that the asteroid was hitting you whilst in Earth's atmosphere, but as you referenced a 'space war', it would imply being outside of the atmosphere, where you'd already be dead due to the lack of oxygen, and the tremendously low temperatures, unless you had the proper equipment for space travel, in which case you wouldn't be stupid enough to go through an asteroid field."

"You calling me stupid?" Frond growled. Sly took a step back in shock.

"N-no ma'am, I was just pointing out the facts, I mean-"

"That's enough out of you. DeMarco, you're captain. Pick who you want. The rest of you, you're the other team." This was always how teams were picked. It was no secret that Frond favored Trent.

Trent, surprise, surprise, did not pick Sam or Miles, and given that the gestalt had been following Miles around like lost puppies, he didn't pick them either, though he was eyeing Nightshade warily. Gabriel Stronst looked like he could pound even Trent. Cooper Morgan, on the other hand, was a short junior who had, unknowingly, whipped a book at Trent's head after running into him in the hallway that morning. He was not on Trent's "favorite people" list.

The game of dodgeball, er, _Asteroids_, went as could be expected - the girls purposely got hit so they didn't have to play, Trent and his cronies were merciless and cruel, and the nerds ran for their little dorky lives. The only unexpected part was that the new kids were _good_. Sly kept getting scared and whipping the ball at his opponents with such force that they were often knocked down, or at least out of breath. Crash was good at dodging and seemed to have inherited the stereotypical medic's arm, as he threw the "asteroids" much like Ratchet would a wrench. As for Shaders, well, he became the impromptu commander, leading his forces through their intergalactic war in such a fashion that Prime himself would have been proud. He even got the geeks to work together. They made a good stand, barely beating the other team. That is, after they were pummeled for four games straight. Still, it was a win.

Sam eyed the gestalt warily the whole time; Miles just smiled at him and waved off his concerns, but he noticed the way that Sam watched them – suspiciously, like he was on to them. Miles could only hope that his friend would let it go, before he got himself wrapped up in things that didn't involve him – like wars between giant robots from space.

* * *

Blitz looked around warily, making sure that the street surrounding the humble button factory was empty of any potential witnesses before slipping out of the structure and transforming into his alt mode, quickly gaining altitude as to not be easily seen by people below due to the cloud coverage, but being low enough to still see the ground beneath him.

He'd been over Mission City too many times to count, scanning the area for any radiation or signals of other Cybertronians. That wasn't very easy, as all of the people involved in repairing the city or investigating its destruction were top-secret government agents who weren't very keen on passing F-22s, which added to the Seeker's suspicion that Decepticons were involved in the battle. Maybe it was the elite Seeker trine.

Blitz had never seen the trine up close and personal, per say. He'd seen them at a distance in battle, but one of his superiors had always called him back from the front lines when the Seekers appeared, sending him to do something mundane like picking up injured mechs to be brought back to the base. Considering that the particular job already belonged to Skyfire, and that he could only carry one mech at a time due to his size, he wasn't very appreciative of the orders.

The Aerialbots as well as the twins had commented more than once, to him and to their superiors, that they would do better fighting the Seekers if Blitz was allowed to assist them. For whatever reason, Optimus Prime and Prowl were adamant that Blitz not be in close contact with the Seekers, which raised suspicions greatly.

All the black and blue mech knew of the other fliers was what he'd heard from others or seen at a distance.

The black and purple one was Skywarp, who, true to his name, could teleport himself from place to place, making him a formidable opponent though many said he was dimwitted and unintelligent, as well as a prankster.

Thundercracker was the Seeker who Blitz shared a color scheme with, though the other blue and black didn't have the same designs that he did – okay, _nobody_ had the same designs that Blitz did, which he knew wasn't very tactical of him, due to it making him very recognizable, but again, his glitch came into play, and he just didn't care.

TC, as he'd heard many mechs call Thundercracker, could apparently release sonic booms that caused quite the amount of damage to his enemies, as Blitz had seen firsthand when he'd had to retrieve mechs injured from those blasts. Thundercracker was also supposedly more intelligent than he let on, and he thought things through to the point of worrying himself over minute details. He was supposed to be more levelheaded than Skywarp, and he wasn't the most outgoing of mechs, choosing to spend most of his time with his trine.

He knew that Starscream was the tri-colored Decepticon SIC and Air Commander, as well as the trine leader and the fastest of the three, also being the smallest. According to others, he had a very grating, high-pitched raspy voice that was unbearable when he screamed, hence his name and his nickname, Screamer. Starscream's null rays had become his trademark, as had his attempts to overthrow the Decepticon leader Megatron every chance he got. Word had it that he'd once been close friends with Skyfire, though, and that, like the much larger mech, he was an accomplished scientist and genius.

Blitz didn't know how many of these claims were true and how many were gossip. He didn't know the trine personally and he certainly didn't plan on changing that any time soon.

However, he'd had Slysight hack government contact systems so the gestalt could listen in on any news involving the Mission City attack. Their youngest member was still working on hacking the official records of the events of Mission City without alerting the humans to his activity, but he had been able to gain access to their lines of communication.

Unknown F-22s had been reported in the area at times when Blitz hadn't been out and about. He wasn't sure it was the trine, but he had a hunch that it was, and today he planned on following up on that hunch. As Crash would say, he was goin' Seeker huntin'.

All reports had been on jets flying towards the east, so logically, Blitz went in that direction. He flew for a while, every once in a while raising his altitude when suspicious humans seemed to take notice, but otherwise he was fine as he flew over the barren desert that lacked any human life.

Blitz had been flying for at least an hour with no luck. He was starting to just enjoy the sensations of flying, not worrying about searching for his targets, when suddenly his sensors went crazy as something appeared on the very edge of their radius.

He was picking up spark energy, and the owners of said sparks were approaching an area ahead of him rapidly.

Immediately dropping down, he looked for a place to hide as two blips on his radar grew closer. He could tell where they planned on meeting, a rocky outcrop not too far ahead. It was perfect to hide them from prying eyes – or optics – except that it also hid their own view of the outside world. Hence, it was also good for eavesdropping on a meeting.

Dimming his own energy so others wouldn't pick up on it as easily – a technique that Crash had informed him was dangerous, but useful if one needed to desperately stay hidden – Blitz quietly landed and transformed, wedging himself into a crevice and ducking beneath an overhang that would keep the sun from glaring off of his body which could've potentially alerted others to his presence. He was successfully hidden from view, and there was a small crack through which he could watch the proceedings while keeping his face shadowed. Once again, he was thankful for his mask; without it, the glow from his optics would have been a dead giveaway.

He waited silently, quieting his air intakes so they were but a soft whoosh, a noise one could easily mistake as a slight breeze, and waited.

The wait was not too long before he could hear the unmistakable sound of jet engines. Two jets appeared on the horizon and flew ever closer until they came in for a landing in the middle of the semi-circle formed by the rocks.

Blitz watched, almost nervous. What if the two jets were actual human jets? He swore they had spark signatures, but maybe it was just wishful thinking. After all, he himself always transformed into his bipedal mode mid-landing, if he was expecting to meet somebody. Not everyone was like himself, but still his doubts flew.

He had to restrain himself from, oddly, sighing in relief when the two jets began to transform, revealing themselves to in fact be his enemies: Skywarp and Thundercracker. Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

The two looked towards the sky, in the direction of a third incoming jet that could only be Starscream. The jet circled before performing the same transform-while-landing technique that Blitz so loved to use, kicking up a small dust cloud as a sliver Seeker's feet hit the ground. The trine watched each other, appearing to be communicating silently if the looks in their optics meant anything.

"_What happened to your old colors?"_ Thundercracker asked softly in Cybertronian in lieu of a greeting.

"_Apparently they're the colors of the squishies in this area," _Starscream replied, disgust clear in his tone. _"They would have made me seem 'patriotic'."_

Blitz reeled back as far as he could in his hiding place, shock evident on his hidden faceplates. Starscream had the same vocal glitch as he did!

Blitz had many reasons for not speaking, one of them being that he had a vocal glitch. The glitch only affected the sound of the voice. It gave it an unnaturally raspy, sometimes gravelly quality, and could cause sporadic jumps in tone and pitch if one was upset and not concentrating on carefully moderating their speech, and while the glitch could be covered slightly with a lot of expensive, usually painful operations, it could never be completely removed.

A shared vocal glitch wasn't what had surprised Blitz. No, he was surprised because the glitch was extremely rare, and it could only be passed down through heredity. Like some human traits, it could lie dormant for generations before manifesting, but if one mech had it, there was a greater chance that their direct offspring would also have it. Not only that, but a fellow Seeker having the same glitch...it was unnerving. But from what he knew, Starscream wasn't bonded and he was too proud to have an illegitimate creation, so he had nothing to fear; he couldn't possibly be related to the Decepticon Seekers, the shared glitch was just a coincidence.

"_Aw,"_ Skywarp pouted. _"I liked your old colors."_

"_And you don't like how I look now?"_ the Air Commander asked, raising an optic ridge.

"_Don't worry Screamer, you're still gorgeous,"_ Skywarp purred, leaning into the trine leader and...Holy Primus were they kissing?!

And now Thundercracker was rubbing their wings and they were moaning and dear sweet Primus above he had to get out of here now!

Not caring about stealth or being caught Blitz burst backwards out of his hiding place and made a running jump, transforming midair and flying as fast as he could from there, overcome with a gripping fear.

The trine were in love with each other. They really had been communicating silently because they were bonded. The rumors of their bonding were true.

The overwhelming amount of evidence was something that Blitz didn't want to think about, but the facts kept replaying themselves, and his overly logical mind arranged them so it could form a conclusion.

Fact: The elite Decepticon Seeker trine were bonded.

Fact: Starscream and Blitz shared a rare, hereditary vocal glitch.

Fact: Prime and Prowl wouldn't let Blitz anywhere near the elite trine in battle, though on occasion they'd let him fight one of the Coneheads, if for brief time.

Fact: Blitz had been told that Ironhide had found him with mechs that weren't Seekers, and thus not his creators.

Fact: There were no Autobot Seekers.

Conclusion: There was a strong, plausible possibility that he was the creation of the elite Decepticon Seeker trine.

* * *

**Blitz is in denial! I've played "Asteroids" before, it was dulled down for little kids, but we asked if it was dodgeball and the teacher freaked out at us. All of those classes are offered at my school – the thing about "History Through Film" was completely true. I felt that we were getting away from Blitz too much, so I gave him some spotlight here. If you're nice to me, we may do some of the trine's POV next chapter, hmm? So review!**


	12. Evil Angel

**I'm baa-aack!!! Did you miss me? I missed you! ;) I've been writing a lot of other TF stories, that's why I took so long. Anywhere, here we go!**

**Breem – 8.3 Earth minutes – Equivalent to a Cybertronian minute**

**Joor – About 6.5 Earth hours – Cybertronian hour**

**Orn – About 13 Earth days – Cybertronian day**

**Deca-Orn – About 130 Earth days – 10 orns**

**Vorn – About 83 Earth years – Cybertronian year**

**Nano-klik – About half of an Earth second**

_:: blah :: _**- gestalt link**

**Blah – Com. link**

_Blah _**– thoughts**

"_Blah" _**– Cybertronian**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Transformers or any of its characters. I do own Blitz, the gestalt, and anyone else that's not canon. The lyrics to "Evil Angel" belong to Breaking Benjamin. The Jeep Commander doesn't really come in green, so maybe I could say that I own the one used here...or not.**

* * *

"_**Put me to sleep, evil angel  
Open your wings, evil angel  
Fly over me, evil angel  
Why can't I breathe, evil angel?"**_

_~ "Evil Angel" – Breaking Benjamin_

Hound sat down on his berth, resigning himself to his newly issued off-duty status. Ratchet and Prime had agreed that removing him from the duty roster for the time being was the best idea, as his processor was obviously not on his work, and all of his actions were overshadowed by his need to search for clues as to the whereabouts and possible life of the gestalt.

He couldn't help himself; Crash was probably alive, and if Crash was alive, then the gestalt would be with him – they were too close to live without one another, and everyone knew what happened when a gestalt member died – and that meant that his Shaders (and Van in turn) was out there, waiting for him, and Hound planned on finding him.

Everybody kept telling him not to get his hopes up, that it was a slim chance, and on and on and on, but Hound just couldn't bring himself to listen to them. For the first time in tens of thousands of vorns he had been given hope, and the scout clung to that hope with everything he had. It may have been unhealthy and he may've been setting himself up for disappointment, but deep in his spark he knew that his hope was not in vain. He knew that his Nightshade and Phantom were alive and that he wouldn't be a good tracker if he just ignored that challenge to locate them.

Getting up from his berth he moved towards the door, his intent clear. Hound was going to find his beloved and set things right. He checked the immediate area, and seeing that nobody was around, he quickly exited the premises, sneaking through one of the security system's blind spots – his escape would've been impossible had Red Alert been there, as he wouldn't have tolerated the terrible security that had more holes than some of that organic food called Swiss cheese.

Hound went on a drive, for now just to clear his thoughts and maybe see some of the surrounding civilization. He found that he loved all of Earth's flora and fauna, and its diverse people and cultures were fascinating as well. One thing that the green scout had yet to experience that he wanted to try out was something called a "car wash", as Bee had told him it was called, when humans would, manually or by an automated machine, clean their vehicles. According to Bumblebee, both methods were quite enjoyable, and his fellow scout had recommended a specific auto shop in Tranquility, one called Melvin's Auto Shop and Car Wash...

* * *

Phantom entered his current place of employment, Melvin's Auto Shop and Car Wash, enjoying the chance to use his shared body all by himself. In the back of his mind he could hear Shaders chuckling at his sparkling-like glee. He shot back an image of himself making a not-so-nice human gesture with one of his servos, only to receive more snickers from his counterpart and no few laughs from his brothers. Scowling at them all and physically scowling as well he stepped out of his alt mode and into the parking lot in the back of the shop, the one reserved for employees.

The dark haired holoform all but stalked into the building, nodding as a greeting to his coworkers as he went. One thing he loved about working here was that the Shop, as they all called it, wasn't full of prissy guys who were afraid of a little sparring, verbal or physical. No, they were all a lot like Phantom himself, so he fit in just fine. Most of them were on the taller side and looked like they could beat the living hell out of somebody.

The only exception to that size standard was Ritchie, who could have possibly been considered Van's closest friend outside of the gestalt, or rather, Shane Rasch's closest friend. The brunet was short and skinny, hence his well-used moniker "Shrimpy", but he could hold his own in an argument, was a real scrapper in a fight, and he could detail a car like nobody's business, and that earned him respect. For as rough and tumble as the Shop's employees appeared to be, they were really a very easy group to get along with, more like big teddy bears than gangsters, though if you said this to them they'd beat the crap out of you. Never tell a two-hundred fifty pound guy who drives a souped up Harley and has more tattoos than you do teeth that he's a big teddy bear unless he really, really likes you, or you have a death wish.

Walking in to the locker room where the employees changed into their mandatory jumpsuits and stored their belongings he was immediately greeted by Richie, the short man at his side in an instant. In a way Ritchie had become Van's sidekick and he looked up to him, though they were the "same age" of nineteen.

"Hey man!" Ritchie greeted, plopping himself down on the bench in the middle of the room, already in his jumpsuit.

"Shrimpy," Phantom returned. He had the slightest trace of a grin as he said this; after all, he had given Ritchie the name.

"You're so mean to me," Shrimpy mock sighed, running a hand forlornly through his ragged-looking hair.

Phantom scoffed, "Yeah yeah, cry me a river. Then build a bridge and get over it."

"So harsh," his friend lamented. He shook his head in despair. Brightening, he said, "Vinny says we're on washer duty today unless we get any walk-ins. Apparently there aren't any scheduled appointments today that need our expertise." Phantom snorted at this, but remained silent as he stripped off his duster, replacing it with the dull blue-grey coveralls, complete with a patch with his name on it stitched to the chest.

Finished changing he stood, making his way to Vinny's office to check in. The Shop had a very unorthodox method of clocking in for the day. Instead of having time cards that were punched in at the beginning and end of the day, the Shop used the method of "go to Vinny's office and shout at him that you're there". Phantom moved to do just that.

"Yo Vin, I'm here!" he hollered as he leaned his head into the room.

"Do you need to shout? I'm right here." Vinny, short for Melvin, was the owner of the Shop. A man in his late forties, he had hair that was formerly black, but was now streaked with silver, and a salt and pepper beard to match. His kind blue eyes and exasperated but caring manner were a painful reminder of Optimus Prime for Phantom, but he dealt with it. In a way he found Vinny's presence to be comforting, as if he was a pseudo-Optimus. And as he would have treated Optimus, Phantom was playfully snarky with him as well.

"Yes, _Melvin_, I do." The dark haired youth stressed the older man's name, knowing that it drove him crazy. Vinny hated his given name. Many asked why he didn't name the shop after his last name if he hated his first one so much. His response: "What kind of self-respecting person would bring their car to a place called 'Finkleworth's'?" Vinny, formally known as Melvin Finkleworth, had one of the most unfortunate names in history.

"Aw, shuddup," Vinny said half-heartedly, sighing as he did so. All of his men were like Shane, antagonistic and rough looking. He knew that they were a tad bit violent and some of them had some criminal pasts, but he made sure that those pasts stayed in the past. Only people intent on cleaning up their acts were allowed in the Shop; it was a good place to turn around your life if you knew something about cars and didn't mind a whole lot of cussing.

Saluting Vinny in a way that was definitely teasing, Shane turned from the doorway and was off, his shadow, also known as his friend Ritchie, at his heels. The pair moved off to one of the garage's doors, standing just in the shadow of the overhang so they could watch for customers while staying out of the blinding sun.

"Hey, Jay," Phantom greeted the tall, stocky, dark-skinned man in his late thirties who was currently manning the wash, waiting for any customers. Jay nodded at him in return.

"Anyone so far?"

"Nope. Looks like it's gonna be another slow day." Jay had a deep, booming voice that he offset by being abnormally soft-spoken.

The two youths nodded solemnly. They were popular in the area, but with the current economic state a lot of people had to cut back on expenses like washing their cars. Their business had been steadily declining as of late.

The rev of an engine drew the three out of their morose reveries. Glancing towards the street they found that the sound had been emitted by a large army green Jeep Commander. Shrimpy whistled loudly.

"Whoo baby, what I wouldn't do for a ride like that!" he murmured appreciatively. "Didn't even think the Commander came in green."

"Must be a custom job," Jay commented softly.

"Dude's definitely got cash if he can afford wheels like that and a custom job to go with it," Ritchie said, nodding sagely. "You hear that engine? Definitely not the standard stock issue. This guy must have money coming out his ass!"

"Hey, appreciate the ass cash!" Phantom chuckled, nudging his friend. "That's what's filling your paycheck!"

The Jeep approached the wash's entrance and pulled up in front of the trio. The driver exited the car but left the motor running; its smooth purr was audible. The three were officially jealous, though Phantom would never admit it, considering that he was quite proud of his own alt mode. Still, he was allowed to appreciate a fine looking car.

The owner came up to the employees, a small grin on his face. Somehow it was familiar to Van, but for the life of him he couldn't place where he could have seen this guy before. He was of average height – and thus shorter than Phantom – with stylishly cut brown hair and sparkling blue eyes, and a deep tan and obvious muscles to go with it. The man appeared to be in his early twenties, at most.

Everything suddenly slowed for Phantom, like somebody had hit the "slow motion" button on his life. He caught every detail of the man; how the sun shined on his hair, making it look lighter, how his eyes were like the waters of a tropical island, how he made Phantom feel like a bad Hallmark card. It was all familiar, yet at the same time he was sure that he'd never seen the man before in his life. It was all extremely confusing.

The man turned to look at him as he passed, still in slow motion for Phantom. His gorgeous blue eyes seemed to widen infinitesimally as he took in Phantom's appearance. Van didn't know if he should feel offended or bashful. He decided on the former, because the latter wasn't really his thing. Affixing an indifferent look to his face and backing it up with a small scowl, he crossed his arms over his chest and released a dangerous, violet-eyed glare on the blue eyed beauty. Realizing that he was thinking such thoughts about someone – someone who _wasn't_ Hound, the love of his existence – the scowl deepened to an almost hostile frown. Phantom wasn't sure what had brought on these thoughts and, dare he think it, _feelings_, but they had something to do with the man in front of him, and for that he resolved to hate him.

* * *

Hound arrived at the car wash and pulled in, his holoform already intact. Using his holoform he stepped out of his alt mode so he could talk to the employees of the establishment to see about getting one of these "washes" that Bee had been raving about. Standing next to the entrance were three men in blue coveralls. He approached them.

One was short and very tan; his name tag said "Ritchie" and he appeared to be in love with Hound's alt form. The second, "Jay", was a tall African American man who looked like he could be quite the formidable opponent, but Hound saw the wisdom in his eyes. This was no reckless fighter, despite his appearance. The third was the most interesting.

A tall, tanned youth with a shock of wildly spiky black hair, his name tag said "Shane". Shane looked at him and froze, as the humans would say, like a deer in the headlights. He then stiffened and crossed his arms, a dark look coming across his face and settling there. With a jolt Hound realized that the dangerous look was being aimed at him. What had he done to deserve the handsome human's anger?

Two things shocked Hound in that moment, the first being that he'd thought that way about the human. While he could acknowledge that another was good looking, he hadn't directly thought of someone as attractive since...since his love had been cruelly ripped from him. He shoved those thoughts aside, though, when the second thing hit him: the man, Shane, had violet eyes. _Red eyes._

Even the simplest of Autobots could put it together – Red eyes/optics + Angry look + Hostile = Decepticon.

Hound had been watching for any Cybertronian signals and hadn't picked up on anything. Reaching out and making an actual concentrated effort, he could have sworn that he felt the slightest of twinges on his radar. Trying again, he focused on the twinge. There it was, a source of spark energy that wasn't himself; it was obviously dampened to a level where nobody could find it without consciously looking for it, but it was there. It was in the area, coming from...the back parking lot. Holy Primus, he'd just found a Decepticon.

Plastering on a smile he spoke to the short man, Ritchie, and negotiated a wash at a reasonable cost, the entire time watching "Shane" in his peripheral vision and with the sensors of his alt mode. Internally he sent a message to Prime, informing him of definite Cybertronian activity, possibly Decepticon. Prime pinged him back, asking if it was hostile. He replied in the negative, and added that he had a job and was somewhat friendly with some of the humans, if Ritchie was anything to go by. Optimus said it was odd and that he should keep watch on the man, and to stay with him for a while. No backup could be sent because Ironhide was with Will and Bumblebee with Sam, and the twins had been sent out to follow up on a lead about an unidentified jet flying over the area. The Dinobots were out of the question, and Ratchet was still doing maintenance on Wheeljack. Prime himself was in a meeting, and could not come.

Sighing at the new occurrences, Hound attempted to enjoy his wash. It was actually very nice, but he couldn't enjoy it as much knowing that a Decepticon was _right there_. Resigning himself, he formed a plan of how to stay out of sight of the 'Con while following him for the rest of the day.

* * *

The twins, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, had been itching for a fight since they'd arrived on Earth. With no Decepticon activity of late, they'd had to live with wrestling each other and terrorizing the humans. Now though, they might get a chance at some action.

The military had received word of sightings, sightings of an unidentified jet of military grade. The jet was flying at illegally high (and somewhat impossible for a normal jet) speeds over civilian areas and had failed to respond to the demands that the pilot identify himself and land. Believing that it could be a Decepticon, they'd contacted the Autobots, who had in turn sent the twin terrors on a 'Con hunting mission that they were all-too-happy to accept.

They drove out to the area where the jet was expected to enter in the next few minutes, should it keep with its current course. They parked in an empty field out in a rural area with no homes for miles around, Sunstreaker whining the whole time about how filthy it was out here, and how could humans stand this grime and muck. His brother ignored his complaints and watched the sky in silence, something unusual for the red warrior.

The military wasn't mistaken; soon they could pick up the subsonic rumblings of an engine that definitely belonged to a jet. A dot appeared on the horizon line and enlarged, growing into a shape, a black mass that reflected the afternoon sun in an almost painful manner. Soon the mass became a definite jet, and not one for private use, either, but an F-22. There were no human-owned unregistered F-22s in the area, or if there were they wouldn't be flying around so blatantly. This was definitely Cybertronian, though – it had a very blatant spark signature revealed for the world to see.

Transforming in to their bipedal modes the twins stood and onlined their cannons, taking care to aim precisely; they weren't Bluestreak, but they weren't bad shots, either. There was a reason that they were frontliners.

Waiting for the jet to advance close enough, the twins steadied their weapons and synchronized their movements. When the jet was about a mile away, they trained their weapons on the jet's wings, one twin to a wing, and fired.

* * *

Blitz was in denial and he knew it. _Denial isn't just a river in Egypt!_ The cheesy human saying echoed in his mind. The trine couldn't be his creators, they just couldn't!

He flew recklessly, not caring who saw him, just wanting to be alone with his thoughts. This was wrong, so wrong. If he was a Decepticon creation... He'd wondered before, and Crash (who fancied himself a statistician) had run the numbers for him. There was a 98.872 % chance that his creators were of Decepticon origins, given the facts that Blitz had just been over. The shared vocal glitch would only increase these statistics in the Elite trine's favor.

Another thought in the back of his processors commented darkly that it could be worse: his creators could be the Coneheads. Shuddering, the young Seeker banished the thought from his CPU in favor of trying to recall everything he could remember about his creators.

Colors...red, blue, black, white, purple...what did they mean?

_Those are the colors of Starscream's trine,_ the traitorous voice in his head whispered.

_Starscream_...his designation, for the first time in Blitz's experience, triggered another memory, one that he was sucked into as if he was living it currently.

"_...For all we know, it could be Starscream's trine..."_

_His head shot up. Starscream? That was what other creators called the red creator with the funny voice, the one who cuddled so nicely. He could use a nice cuddle right now; weird mechs that he'd been with didn't cuddle or snuggle with him, they didn't play hide and seek with him or toss him in the air like purple creator, they didn't tell him stories or sing to him like blue creator. The weird mechs barely paid attention to him, and he couldn't believe that creators would leave him with mechs like them. Did they not want him anymore? What had he done wrong?_

_These new mechs had been nice. The big one with the rumbling voice held him in a good way – he definitely knew how to snuggle. The big white and red one was odd and reminded him of the weird mechs; he wasn't very friendly, but not really mean. The black and white ones were nice, but the small one was a little scary; he was very loud. The really big mech didn't seem bad, but you never knew about the giant ones, so he had to be watched. Other sparkling wanted to play, which was fine, but right now he just wanted a nice snuggle._

_Wait, new mechs had mentioned red creator. He looked around wildly, wanting to see creators again. Nobody was there. Saddened and feeling down, he released a solitary, dejected click. Everyone was staring at him. What? He wanted to see creators again! Other sparkling was being nicer, whirring at him consolingly. New weird mech said something, but he didn't listen._

_Suddenly another new mech came in, this one white with little bits of orange and green on him. He had a funny thing on his faceplates and bright colors on the sides of his head. This mech made a loud happy noise and came up to the big berth he was sitting on. He said something to the other mechs and then turned to the sparklings and lifted him up swiftly. It was like how purple creator used to do it! He cooed in delight as the air moved over his miniscule wings and reached out, wanting to be cuddled. The new mech brought him close and held him to his chassis. Oh, yes, this was definitely his favorite of the new mechs. He knew how to cuddle and he picked him up the way purple creator always did._

_The new mechs kept talking, but he ignored them, enjoying his cuddle. Then the nice mech holding him started talking him. What was he saying? Something about...name? Designation? Oh yes, that thing creators called him. What was it? He clicked and chirred absently, trying to recall. Ah, that was it! He tried to say it for the nice mech. It must have not been coming out right, because they just kept looking at him. He tried again, focusing this time._

"_Blitz!" Yay, he got it right! New mechs were smiling at him now. He was glad he'd made them happy. Now, back to that long-overdue snuggle..._

Blitz had never had such a complete memory from that time frame, from when he was a sparkling and apparently when he met the Autobots for the first time. It was odd that he would only remember it now, all this time later. But it had revealed to him something he hadn't wanted to admit to himself, though he'd already known it: his creators were the elite Decepticon Seeker trine.

Twin shots of searing pain burned in both of his wings, ruthlessly yanking him from his thoughts. What the frag was that?!

He began to spiral from the sky. Blitz was going down, and he knew it. Not one to give up without a fight, he did his best to pull up, but it was to no avail; he would have to land, and soon, if he wanted to avoid crashing.

In his head the gestalt was railing against the thin wall he'd put in place – a request for privacy so he could think his thoughts without the input of four others. The force of the others pressing against the mental wall broke it easily, and the rest of the gestalt was soon immersed in his thoughts. Feelings of shock and surprise, of sympathy and understanding circled back to him from his brothers, showing their acceptance of him even after his revelation. Those feelings were soon overcast by their anger and concern at his obvious distress.

Phantom had recently finished his shift and told him to find a safe place to land; he'd be there soon to beat the living slag out of whoever had attacked him. The others were just leaving school, and Blitz told them not to come. They had Miles to worry about, and he didn't want to draw to much attention. Reluctantly they agreed, knowing that if it was a single attacker, Phantom could take them on, and even ground bound, Blitz could still fight. At a moment's notice, though, the gestalt would be ready to deploy and assist in the fight, should their help be needed. For the time being, they'd wait it out in their factory.

Blitz looked around wildly, trying to find a safe place to land. There was a remote field he could land in, in fact the only uninhabited place where he could land without crashing or alerting the locals, though he hadn't been trying to hide from them when he'd flown over their homes at a low altitude. Oh well, the field would have to do. There was only one problem: it was apparently not as uninhabited as he thought, if the two giant robots, his attackers, standing in it were anything to go by.

_Cybertronians_, he thought in awe. Was today his day to find everybody? It seemed so, considering these were the fourth and fifth non-gestalt Cybertronians he'd seen today, after not seeing any other than his brothers for countless vorns.

He tried to land as far from the two as he could, but having two gaping holes in one's wings doesn't make controlling your downward spiral of flight very easy to maneuver. Blitz ended up landing much to close for comfort, stumbling as he transformed into his bipedal mode only about a half mile from the two attackers who were making excellent time in their efforts to get to him and, presumably, kill him. Oh, today was not the young Seeker's day. First his unsavory revelation, now this? Primus must be laughing his aft off right now.

Shots were being fired at him. He tried to dodge, but not before one of his thrusters was clipped by a glancing blast. Great, now he had no way of flying in any mode.

Unveiling his own weapons, he fired a few shots off at the assailants, but he had no idea if they'd made contact. If they had, they weren't having much of an effect on the two. He sent a quick thought to Phantom to hurry his aft up. Everyone knew what they said about ground bound Seekers: a grounded Seeker is a dead Seeker. With the way things were going, it seemed that this old saying may be coming true for Blitz very soon. Seekers didn't have much in the way of ground based weapons or attacks, and they weren't built for much hand-to-hand contact unless they absolutely had to.

The attackers were almost on him now, still firing off shots left and right. Blitz was trying to make an escape, but there was no where to go in the field; it was open and devoid of even a tree to take some of the blasts. His wings were making it hard to evade the attacks – the way the shots kept coming, they might as well have had great big targets painted on them with a "Shoot here!" sign attached to his back. Blitz knew that his wings were shredded by now. He felt, for the first time in literally ages, the urge to cry out vocally as a particularly large chunk of his left wing _fell off_ due to the blasts finally separating the barely attached pieces.

The gestalt was in motion now, attracting attention be damned. Crash insisted that Miles stay at the factory for safety while the two remaining 'Bots raced to the scene of their brother's distress; Nightshade had deactivated his holoform in favor of rejoining Phantom in their body but doing his best to allow his alternate, the better fighter, to remain in control. Luckily, for once, Phantom wasn't forcefully subdued a time of need. Unluckily for them, Blitz was way out of the way. Even at top speeds, it would take Phantom another ten to fifteen minutes to get there, ten to fifteen minutes that he didn't have! To add to his problems, he was being followed by the Jeep Commander from earlier which he was almost sure was another Cybertronian. What was with things today?!

Blitz tried to get a look at his attackers. He saw a flash of red and yellow before he saw nothing at all. The Pit-spawned fraggers had shot him in the face! With a feeling of dread he realized that his mask had cracked. He hadn't been mask-less in he couldn't remember how long. The trivial fact of not having his mask seemed to take over his processors. Well, at least he couldn't see their faces, either, considering that he'd just had his optics fried if they hadn't been exploded completely.

In his last conscious moments he could have sworn that he could hear something in the distance, a sound getting closer. It sounded like...jet engines...

His world faded to black.

The gestalt cried out in pain and outrage.

* * *

Knowing that somebody had infringed on their reunion had royally fragged off the elite Decepticon Seeker trine. They hadn't seen each other for vorns and somebody had thought it okay to watch?! Oh, they would pay for that.

What was odd, Thundercracker pointed out to his furious bondmates, was that the voyeur had run off so brashly and blatantly, while they'd obviously been trying to hide before. It was like they'd been...surprised at the trine's relationship. It wasn't a Decepticon, that was for sure. The nature of the trine's relationship was no secret to their faction. The Autobots, on the other hand, had betting pools on the subject. Definitely an Autobot.

But since when did the Auto-scum get a Seeker?

There had been rumors, back before the fall of Cybertron, that the Autobots had a Seeker in their midst, but nobody could confirm it. Megatron had even sent out scouts to see of this was true, but there was no evidence of this other than pitifully fearful Decepticons of attacked bases and contingents who claimed to have seen a Seeker wearing the Autobot sigil. Without physical proof or an image capture, the rumors remained to be gossip.

Besides, if the Autobots had a Seeker, wouldn't they try to pit it against the trine in battle? It was probably better that they hadn't if this Seeker did exist. The trine hated seeing most other Seekers nowadays that weren't themselves. Any other Seeker was a painful reminder of what they'd lost with the fall of Praxus. So, so much had been lost that orn.

When the Nemesis had received word of the destruction of Praxus, the trine had almost revolted then and there. The Decepticons, _their own faction_, had slaughtered the whole city. There had been no survivors. They'd sent their sparkling there to save him, only to be the reason of his death. It had broken their sparks.

Starscream became more traitorous after that; it was when he began to make attempts to "overthrow" Megatron out of spite for him for giving the orders to destroy Praxus. Thundercracker had become more introverted. Even Skywarp wasn't himself, though only his trine ever seemed to realize it.

They hid their grief well. No other Decepticon knew about Blitz, and that was how they wanted it. If the others knew, they'd use the sparkling as a means to insult the trine, to call them weak. Still, a most surprising thing had happened after Praxus' destruction. After a meeting with Megatron one orn, Starscream had been just about to leave after the Slag-maker himself had departed when Soundwave, the slagging telepath that he was, had stopped him by placing his servo on the SIC's shoulder and said in that infuriatingly monotonous voice of his, "I'm sorry for your loss."

It had thrown the trine for a loop. TC theorized that Soundwave, having creations of his own, could understand how a creator would feel if they lost their youngling. Soundwave never mentioned it again, and presumably he hadn't told Megatron. If he had, then the Decepticon leader wasn't saying anything, which would be out of character for him.

Bringing their minds back to the present, the trine focused on the task at hand: finding this voyeur and showing him why you don't intrude on Decepticons' private moments. Transforming, the three took off in the direction that the other Seeker had, following the trails of jet streams that he'd left in his wake.

They soon came upon a very large field, more than a few miles wide, in a large rural area almost completely devoid of any squishies. In the middle of this field, a battle was taking place, or rather, a beating was taking place.

The same black Seeker – _black, just like Blitz had been_ - that had been watching them was being blown to bits by the infernal Autobots twins Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. In horror they realized that the large black shard of metal on the ground was the majority of the Seeker's left wing. They may not have liked him, but they knew how painful any wing injury was. What the twins were doing was just...barbaric. Even as cruel, evil Decepticons, the trine wouldn't ever do that kind of torturous damage to another.

"_Why would the Autobots harm one of their own?"_ TC asked, always one to notice the details.

"_I've no idea," _Starscream replied.

Skywarp ventured,_ "Maybe he upset them?"_

Thundercracker answered him, _"No, they're not like us. They don't condone physical punishment, especially for their own."_

"_Who is he, then?"_ 'Warp asked.

"_Good question,"_ Starscream muttered. _"Let's see if we can find out."_

Just as this was said, one of the twins released a blast directly at the black Seekers faceplates, shattering the full-face mask that he'd been wearing. The trine couldn't help but gasp in horror at what was revealed.

"_What happened to him?"_ Skywarp inquired softly, shocked.

"_I don't know, but these Auto-scum are going down." _Starscream was adamant about this. The three prepared for landing.

"_Who's that?"_ TC asked. In the distance a large black SUV was driving like Unicron himself was after it, a green Jeep on its tail.

* * *

Phantom was almost there.

_:: Hold on, bro! ::_ he sent to his younger brother as he made a sharp turn into the field. He transformed as he drove, breaking into a sprint towards the fight. Behind him, he could hear the Jeep transforming and doing the same.

"Twins!" the Jeep shouted in an oddly familiar voice. The two assailants turned from Blitz to look at the Jeep. Phantom took this chance to punch one in the faceplates while simultaneously turning his left arm into a very large cannon which he liked to call Sheila and using it to shoot the other in the abdomen. Both were knocked back and away from Blitz. He ran to his brother, skidding to a stop in front of him. The mask had been shattered and Blitz was offline. Slag! One of his wings was completely detached. These mechs would pay.

Not far away he could see the Decepticon trine circling. What was this, a violent family reunion? Primus must have been having a field day.

"Hound, you messed us up! We had this slagger good!"

Phantom could have sworn that his spark stopped. _Twins? Hound?_

_Hound._

In his shock and confusion, Phantom and Nightshade's shared processor fritzed and reverted back to base programming, which thought as such:

_Twins? Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Twins hurt Blitz...tried to kill him. Twins used to like Blitz...used to...twins don't like Blitz anymore? Hound with them. Twins don't like Blitz anymore. Hound doesn't like them anymore? Twins and Hound are Autobots...do no Autobots like them anymore? That means...Autobots are trying to kill the gestalt._

Base programming taking over completely, the shared body did the only thing it could to protect its gestalt. Phantom launched himself at the Autobots, ready to tear them apart.

* * *

**I didn't intend for this to go the way it did. Kind of makes me sad, the way it went. Things just happened! I didn't mean for it to be this way! Sorry! ;) Please review!!!**


	13. Death of Me

**Hey, this took longer than usual due to my working on my stories "Dark Pasts" and "Jazz's Boys" (both TF stories) but we're here. This is a bit short, but totally packed with actual plot development (shocking, I know!). Rejoice and be glad! ;) If you want the key for the language/text or the time table, check previous chapters; it was taking up way too much space to put in every chapter.**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Transformers or any of its characters. I do own Blitz, the gestalt, and anyone else that's not canon. The lyrics to "Death of Me" belong to Red.**

* * *

"_**I should have seen those signs all around me,  
But I was comfortable inside these wounds;  
So go ahead and take another piece of me now  
While we all bow down to you; **_

**_You tear me down and then you pick me up,_**  
**_You take it all and still it's not enough,_**  
**_You try to tell me you can heal me,_**  
**_But I'm still bleeding and you'll be_**  
**_The death of me!"_**

_~ "Death of Me" - Red_

Bumblebee hurried towards his comrades' location, breaking too many traffic laws to count. In his interior Sam was gripping his seat, fingers digging into the black leather. It probably would have been an interesting sensation, but given the circumstances Bee couldn't really focus on it. There were two unidentified mechs in battle against Hound and the twins, and even though one had been taken out, the Decepticon Seeker trine was circling above them and coming in for a landing. The yellow minibot accelerated, moving as fast as he could while ensuring Sam's safety. Thank Primus he'd already dropped Mikaela off when he'd received the urgent message from the twins.

Ahead along the stretch of barren road the endless line of trees bordering the street broke, giving way to a huge, flat clearing. Knowing that this was the place, Bumblebee swerved violently to the left, almost shoving Sam into the window as he did so, and sped into the field. He stopped momentarily and quickly ushered Sam out of his alt mode.

Once his charge was clear he transformed and, with one last glance at Sam to ensure that he was well away from the fight, he ran towards the battle, seeing a large black mech with red optics barreling towards Hound and the twins. Sunstreaker had a huge singe mark on his chassis – he wasn't going to be happy about that later.

Bumblebee saw an offline mech off to his right and three F-22 Raptors circling above it, but ignored them for the time being, instead onlining his cannons and aiming at the unidentified black mech with the furious faceplates, hitting him along a transformation seam where the mech's leg joined his torso. The mech howled in pain and stumbled, the momentum from the blast causing him to trip and fall. He was getting back to his feet in seconds, albeit in a painful looking manner, but it was enough time for Bumblebee to run forward and tackle him to the ground again, using his shoulder and elbow plating to take most of the impact as he threw his entire body at the other.

His victory was short lived as the other immediately flipped their positions and snarled viciously, slamming Bee into the ground and punching him in the jaw; he had a mean uppercut. Bee's optics flickered at the hit, but managed to stay online. He struggled against the other's hold, twisting and turning, doing anything in his power to buck off his opponent. Remembering the blast he'd hit the other's right leg with, he realized that the injury must have been severely painful, and the other was leaning almost all of his weight to his left side. Using this to his advantage, Bumblebee violently twisted his entire body to the left. The sudden velocity added with the mech's weight twisted to that side caused the other to tumble to the ground once again.

Bee scrambled up quickly, stepping so that he was closest to the mech's injured leg, the one that should have been weaker. Nobody had told the mech that you don't attack someone with your injured leg, apparently, as that leg shot out, sweeping under the minibot and knocking his own legs out from under him. He felt himself falling forward over the dark mech and put his arms out to brace himself, but he never made it to the ground.

In one last strike with his injured leg, the other mech suddenly pulled his legs up while Bee was in mid-fall, tucking them against his chassis and then kicking them outward, catching Bumblebee in the middle of his chassis and sending him flying. The yellow Autobot wasn't the only one to be effected by the sudden movement – the black mech grunted in pain, his joint creaking fitfully, sparks flying off of it before a loud popping noise was heard. The black mech's hands flew to the wound as the area around the joint began to overheat due to the sparks. It gritted its dentals as purple energon began to seep through the mech's fingers. Bee had hit the mech with more accuracy than he had thought – that mech wasn't going anywhere, not with his leg paralyzed like that. That didn't stop him from using his fragging huge cannon, though.

The cannon charged with a high whine. Before it could shoot, Bumblebee was yanked off of the mech by a rough servo on his shoulder, pulling him away and to safety as the blast blew just past where his helm would have been. Glancing over his shoulder he saw Sunstreaker standing behind him, checking him over for damage. The yellow minibot nodded thankfully at his similarly painted savior.

Sideswipe had jumped on the black mech from above its head, using the blind spot to his advantage. He wrestled the mech's cannon-arm to the ground, laying all of his weight on it to keep it pinned and away from the Autobots.

Whirls of dust were being blown up down the road, accompanied by two loud engines. Slowly, two speeding cars were born from the dust, gleaming hoods shining in the lowering sun. Sam, forgotten in the haste of the battle, asked an interesting question.

"Hey, isn't that Miles' new car?"

* * *

The Decepticon trine watched as the black mech, the poor unidentified Seeker's protector, was thrown to the ground, hit with a paralyzing shot. He was being held down by the infernal red twin while the yellow twin helped up the minibot, Bumblebee, and the green mech stared at the black mech in a peculiar manner. Realizing that the black mech could no longer protect his Seeker comrade, the trine for some odd reason felt deeply compelled to protect him themselves. Considering that no mech was watching them anymore, the Decepticons swooped down, landing lightly around the heavily damaged Seeker. Starscream barely held in his gasp of horror; Skywarp couldn't quiet his. The damage was much worse up close than from the sky.

One of the wings, the one that had been brutally torn off, was gushing energon from the jagged stump left behind. The black reflective glass from the cockpit had been completely shattered, and the face mask the mech had been wearing, made from the same material as the cockpit and shaped in a "V" like the visor of some human motorcycle helmets, had been cracked, shards of it resting in the crevices of the young Seeker's faceplates, and oh, did those crevices abound. They were like craters, really.

The poor mech's faceplates had been brutally massacred, and not recently, if the crudely soldered edges of the wounds were anything to go by. What could only be called chunks of the mech's faceplates were missing, the entire right side of his face being one giant mass of wiring with charred plating serving to frame it. The rest of his face was full of smaller holes, his left cheek a dark cavern filled with wires, his olfactory sensor a melted, charred mass. Ropy scars covered the thin metal lips and whatever plating remained, small holes and marks peppering the metal "skin". Inside the mess of wires that was the right half of the Seeker's face, a round optic was nestled, cracked green glass glittering from where the most recent blast to the mech's head had broken it.

_Green optics._

None of the trine was sure which one of them had passed the thought along their bond, but the idea stuck in their processors like a parasite. Optic colors didn't symbolize much of anything, contrary to popular belief, and came in a variety of different colors other than red or blue, such as purple, yellow or gold, occasionally orange or possibly even a kind of silver or black, and, of course, green. Green, like the optics of their little Blitz. Like the optics of the unknown Seeker in front of them.

Green optics weren't uncommon in Cybertronians overall, but they were not often found in Seekers, a race known for having optics of colors such as red, purple, and some shades of blue or deep gold. An unidentified Seeker with green optics and mostly black paint that appeared to be around the age Blitz would have been, had he been alive. The resemblance was too painful to contemplate, and with the mech being offline with destroyed faceplates, there was no immediate way to discover it's identity by asking it or by visual recognition.

Dust-devils were being kicked up as two sleek cars zoomed into the field, one immediately heading in the direction of the three Seekers while the other went towards the downed black mech being pinned by Sideswipe. The one coming at the Seekers was a silver car, one that transformed without slowing into a visored mech, a bit on the taller side. Using the momentum from its speeding drive, it slid one pede in front of it to slow down and skid to a stop next to the Seekers, causing the disgusting surface substance of the planet to be tossed up at the mechs present. The Decepticons tensed and prepared for battle, but were briskly shoved past by the silver mech, who from his subspace pulled some Cybertronian tools, something that the Seekers hadn't seen for some time, and set to work on the mech, ignoring the trine's presence completely.

It hummed something to itself, murmuring something in a grating voice, intermittently attempting to do something that vaguely resembled singing nervously while cursing and talking quietly to the Seeker it was trying to repair. In the distance, the other car had transformed into a very short orange and grey mech who was mumbling incoherently while taking shots at the Autobots with surprising accuracy, almost knocking Sideswipe off of the black mech who Starscream assumed to be the comrade of not only the youngling Seeker, but also the orange and grey shooter and the apparent medic in front of the trine.

The silver mech, another in its late youngling stages, by the looks of it, was talking to the still offline black Seeker as it gingerly picked up the fragments of its mask, holding the glittering shards gently in its servos. "Aw, Bro, ya ain't gonna like this. It's not gonna be easy to get ya another mask, but I promise ya I'll do my best. Ya just hang tight for me, 'kay Blitz?"

The sound of three, synchronized, slow, and very dangerous voices saying, "What did you say?" was how the trine made sure their presence was known.

* * *

Hound felt like the universe had moved into slow motion. Bumblebee's battle had taken only about two Earth minutes, but in Hound's CPU it had lasted forever. Every hit, every twist, every blow had went through his processors like wet sand through a sieve. The black mech was achingly familiar, so much so that it pained his spark to see it gritting its dental plates to restrain itself from screaming in agony. Even when another two mechs were advancing upon the group, one splitting off to see to the fallen Seeker and the other towards the assembled Autobots, he couldn't bring himself to look away from those crimson-violet optics that were staring at him in hurt and betrayal, like he'd somehow wronged this black beauty. The sound of shots being fired attracted his attention, but it was the disjointed rambling that really made him focus.

"I can't believe - after all of this time! – we've been so alone, looking for an answer, for hope, and you're all just – UGH!" The short grey mech was shaking agitatedly, but it held its weapon eerily still. Its shining blue optics were full of pain and misery.

"I don't want to hurt you guys, but you – you -" The mech let out what sounded almost like a broken sob, which tapered off into a confused silence. In that silence, one statement floated across the impromptu battlefield from the silver mech kneeling over the downed Seeker.

"...Ya just hang tight for me, 'kay Blitz?"

"What did you say?" Three voices from the elite Decepticon Seeker trine also came across the field, but they were ignored. Blitz? How could that be? Blitz was dead; the gestalt was dead! They had to be...right?

One single thought smacked all of the Autobots present upside the helm at the same. There were four unknown mechs present: one black, one silver, one grey and orange, one a Seeker. The gestalt was the same, with slightly different models and forms. There was evidence suggesting that Crash was presently on Earth, and thus, the gestalt, also. There were four mechs in front of them that were awfully similar to the gestalt. The black mech was staring at Hound with spark-wrenching hurt in its optics. Those optics were just like those of his lost love. There was a horribly injured, disfigured, and previously masked Seeker across the field being attended to by a nervously singing silver field medic and an anxious and emotional orange and grey mech was aiming a gun at the Autobots. Primus forgive them, they had attacked their own missing comrades.

With a shaking chassis and a fast-pulsing spark, Hound slowly crouched down next to the black mech and knelt, telling Sideswipe to get off of the mech with a look. The green tracker turned to those familiar red optics once again, recognizing there the pain, the betrayal, and the hope that he himself had been feeling since coming to Earth, the hope of being reunited with the one he loved.

"Phantom?" Hound inquired softly, so very truly scared for the first time he could remember.

A pained grunt from the other, accompanied by the slightest cant of a helm. _Yes_, the mech was saying with only his actions. _It's me._

Hound felt too many things in that moment to discern them all: happiness, joy, love, relief, guilt, hurt, pain, sadness, anxiety, and then he felt scared, so very spark-wrenchingly terrified, as a well aimed shot blasted his love's chassis, right over his spark chamber, and those crimson optics that he'd missed so very much dimmed and darkened to a deep, unfeeling black.

* * *

It had taken some time, but finally all Autobots available were able to assist in what had went from a scuffle between the twins and the unidentified Seeker to a full on battle, three Autobots against the elite Decepticon trine and four unidentified but reportedly hostile mechs. Wheeljack's arm had been repaired, so he had joined the convoy consisting of Optimus Prime, Ironhide and Will Lennox, and Ratchet. Perceptor had stayed with the Dinobots, mainly because they did not yet have any inconspicuous forms to use around humans and they needed somebody to supervise them in Wheeljack and Ratchet's absence.

The Autobots reached the now decimated and pretty full field containing ten Cybertronians and took in the scene around them. The elite trine wasn't anywhere near the Autobots, instead standing in a tight group around a silver mech who was leaning over another whose form was blocked by the Seekers standing in somewhat protective stances, glaring at anyone who so much as looked their way. On the left end of the field, near where the field blended into trees, Sam Witwicky stood in the slanting shadows projected by the trees, away from what had been a battle. Sunstreaker stood with Bumblebee, both looking down at a black mech on the ground as well as an unidentified grey mech who had a gun trained on them. Sideswipe moved off of the mech on the ground as Hound knelt down next to it. From the perspective of the arriving 'Bots, the mech appeared to be deactivated. Why else would Hound get so close to an enemy? When the mech moved, the new arrivals reacted with the skills that vorns of combat had taught them.

Ironhide had removed Will from his interior and transformed, onlining his well-loved cannons and firing a direct shot at the black mech who they believed had been faking being deactivated to lull the others into a false sense of security so it could kill them. The shot hit true, striking the black mech's chassis and knocking it at least offline, if not truly deactivating it. The grey mech let out a loud wail and spun on its pede, readying to fire at the Autobots. Before it could shoot, Optimus Prime himself had shot the small mech, sending it flying a good twenty feet across the field where it landed with a dull thud, hitting the ground like a limp ragdoll of a human child. It did not move after that.

Hound shrieked uncharacteristically, grabbing the black mech into his arms and pulling the larger mech up against his chassis, cradling it nervously and muttering incoherent gibberish. Ratchet started across the field to find what was wrong with the green mech, but froze when the silver mech pushed his way through the Seekers and approached with a swift, determined gait.

"What the frag is wrong with ya slaggers?!" The silver mech cried, coming to stand in front of the Autobots with a furious expression glinting through his...visor? Why did he seem so familiar? Wait, the accent, the visor...no, it couldn't be, it just couldn't!

"You've got ten seconds to give me three good reasons why I shouldn't be feeding ya yer own innards!" The others stared at him in shock as he continued. "We're at nine seconds. Eight, seven, hurry up, 'cause I'm pissed as all get out and by Primus I so wanna dissect y'all so bad right now it ain't even funny. Five seconds!"

For the first time that most mechs and humans had ever seen, Optimus Prime was at a complete and total loss for words. Here, in front of him, was the same comedic and snarky field medic of a gestalt who they had lost so long ago. It could be no one else. No other had the same accent, the same voice and syntax, the same tone and choice of words, the same grey visor that covered half of his face, the same scar peeking out from that same visor. It was true, all of it. Crash had known that Earth song so long ago because he'd been alive on Earth in the present, hearing it. Crash, the gestalt, they were all here and, against all hope and logic, they were alive. Or at least they had been before the rest of the Autobots had come in and attacked them.

"Three, two, one! Time's up, bitches! Make yer case now or I'm blowing yer fraggin' heads off for what y'all did to my bros." The mech – Crash, it had to be – was glaring at them in barely restrained fury. He had felt every blast, every strike that his brothers had, and it pained and angered him as much as it did them. Why was their own faction attacking them?

"Crash?" Ratchet asked softly, seeing that Optimus didn't look like he planned on speaking anytime soon.

"No, Crash's evil twin. Yes I'm Crash! Are ya all fraggin' oblivious, or do ya just randomly maul any mech ya meet?" he asked.

The others stared at him nervously. "Oh my Primus," Crash murmured, optics glowing brightly behind his visor. "Ya do, don't ya? Ya were all tryin' to kill my brothers without even seein' who they were!"

Sideswipe had approached the group, his brother not far behind him. "I swear, we didn't know it was Blitz!"

"So ya just attack any Seeker ya see?" Crash continued.

"We thought he was a Decepticon!" Sunstreaker shouted.

"Ya know Blitz is the only black Seeker with a mask!" Crash screamed back, beginning to have a panic attack of Slysight proportions.

"We thought you were dead!" the yellow twin countered. Crash fell silent, absolutely shocked.

"Ya...what?" They had thought the gestalt was dead? That meant...Mirage had thought he was dead? But, but he'd promised 'Raj that he would come back, hadn't he? 'Raj should have known that he wouldn't lie, not to 'Raj, not about something as serious as that.

"Your ship's signal cut out," Prime said softly, trying to calm the young medic. "We could no longer contact you, and it has been so long...the only logical choice was that you were all deactivated."

"Logic, huh?" Crash scoffed. "Bet Prowl told ya that one, aye?" He laughed darkly.

"Actually, Prowl was one of the few who held out hope the longest," Ratchet admitted. Crash looked mildly surprised, but then looked around, as if realizing the situation.

Being surprisingly serious, Crash said, "Well, ya can explain all that crap later. Van got 'is leg seam fragged over by the yellow runt over there, and then ol' Ironaft shot 'im over 'is spark, an' I may've given 'im reinforced armor, but it ain't a miracle worker; he needs attention, like, ten minutes ago. OP here decided to go all super-soldier an' shoot poor Kitten half way 'cross the field, an' the twins slagged over Blitzy real bad, an' now the 'Con trine are standin' 'round actin' all paternal, an' by the by, are they Blitzy's creators, 'cause Blitzy was havin' some inklin's 'bout stuff like that a lil' while back an' that's why he was flyin' 'round without coverin' his signal or nothin' an' not carin' if people could see 'im."

Those who knew the field medic understood that his rambling, run-on sentences, poor grammar and thickening of his accent were because he was scared and nervous, and they understood every word he said. Those who didn't, i.e., Sam, Will, and Bumblebee, were at a loss, not understanding why this new mech already knew English or what he was saying, while Sam and Bee were shocked to find that Miles' new car was Cybertronian, and Sam noticed that Miles' "new friend" Nat spoke a hell of a lot like this new mech, and wondered if Miles knew about any of this.

Ratchet leveled a look at the silver mech, both entering their own "serious medic" mindset. "Who's worse off?"

Crash's optics dimmed behind his visor as he used his gestalt bond to check the extent of his brothers' damage. When he spoke, he had once again lost most of his accent; as was the effect of the "serious medic" mindset. "Kitten's the best off; OP stunned him, but he's rebootin' as we speak an' should be up and at it in a few minutes. As for Van an' Blitzy, well Blitzy's faceplates look real bad, but he's not as bad as ya think – his mask got shattered and he won't be happy that you saw, so I think I'll take him. His wing is torn off an' his cockpit an' right optic are shattered. Van, like I said yer runt got his leg joint good an' 'Hide got his spark chamber; he's stable at the moment but fluctuatin' a lot, 'cause my bein' online an' actively workin' to keep the pulses steady is all that's keepin' it from goin' nuts. Ya got proper facilities an' supplies?"

"That we do," Wheeljack said, having been forgotten in light of the new occurrences. "The Dinobots and I landed only a few Earth days ago with the Ark." Crash gave him a tiny grin.

"Awesome, it'll be a hell of a lot better than my junkyard finds. Now, seriously, ya didn't answer my question. Are Screamer's trine Blitz's creators?"

"We believe so," Optimus said solemnly.

"Slag," Crash uttered loudly. "I thought I was right, but I really, really didn't wanna be." He then turned on his pede, moving back to the ring of Seekers. Without turning back, he shouted, "Yo Hatchet, get to work on Van! 'Hide, check over Kitten, and 'Jack, with me, I'm gonna need some help and Blitzy'll appreciate help from ya. OP, yer gonna need to pull some fraggin' awesome politics over here, 'cause there are some over-protective Seekers here who ain't gonna allow Autobots near their creation."

Bumblebee was shocked that the Autobots were all complying with the demands of this loud, rude, brash, and offensive newcomer. The mech had called him a runt! For some unknown reason, even Optimus just went along with it, following the mech's orders without question, and Ratchet didn't even make a comment about being called Hatchet.

"What's going on?" Sam asked him. "Why are they all listening to him? I though Optimus didn't take orders from anybody."

"He doesn't, fleshy." Sunstreaker leveled a look at the human teenager who had been joined by Lennox, who asked, "Then why is everyone following his orders?"

"Because you don't argue with a pissed off medic, especially when you just beat on his brothers." Sunstreaker spoke to them as if they were idiots.

"How does he know English?" Will asked. That was one of no few questions whirling around his head.

"Beats me," grunted Sunstreaker.

"He called me a runt," Bee was grumbling unhappily.

"Yeah, well you did just beat on Phantom after getting a lucky shot." Sunstreaker was acting like it was Bumblebee's fault!

"He's a 'Con!" the minibot exclaimed. "He's got red optics and was trying to kill you!"

"Phantom is _not_ a Decepticon!" Sunstreaker all but snarled at the other.

"Optic color doesn't matter," added Sides.

"He was still trying to kill you," Sam pointed out.

"Yeah, well that was our fault. We...attacked Blitz." In all the time he had known the twins, Bumblebee had never seen either of them look remorseful or regretful about anything, yet here they were, looking upset about hurting that Seeker.

"Blitz? Isn't that what they were calling the Seeker?" Sam inquired, still confused about the entire situation.

"There are no Autobot Seekers," Bumblebee stated firmly.

"Wrong!" Sideswipe crowed. "Blitz is the first and only, but he's an Autobot and he's a Seeker."

"Wait; didn't you call them all brothers?" Will remembered the earlier comment Sunstreaker had made. "How can a Seeker be brothers with the other ones?"

"Sunny meant brother like a gestalt-brother," Sides said.

"What's a gestalt?" Sam asked, not liking when he didn't know what the Autobots were talking about, which was most of the time.

"A gestalt is a group of mechs that have a kind of bond, one similar to a sibling bond, that connects their minds. Most can combine to form a larger mech with its own personality, but these guys can't," Sideswipe explained in an abnormally patient manner, for him at least.

There was a shrill noise from the other end of the field. Turning, the others realized that they had forgotten about the Decepticon Seekers present. Starscream was living up to his name, the short mech leaning up to scream in the Prime's faceplates, though the size difference was laughable. Thundercracker and Skywarp stood behind their shortest member, glaring with him. Well, that didn't look good.

* * *

It had all started off well enough. Prime had approached the trine, following Crash and Wheeljack, both of whom had been grudgingly admitted past the three. He was not as lucky.

"Oh no you don't, Autoscum!" Starscream shouted, surprisingly speaking in English.

"He's ours!" Skywarp added. He'd found his sparkling, his creation, his seekerlet, and by no means was he going to give him up. Thundercracker stood to his side like a pillar of strength, nodding his agreement.

"Starscream," Prime began, mustering all the patience he could. "Blitz has been a part of the Ark since he was a sparkling." The Seekers hissed at this idea. "You may not believe me, but it is true. He and his gestalt have been members of the Autobots for many, many vorns now."

"Our sparkling is not a member of a gestalt," Thundercracker interjected.

"Wrong!" Crash called from his place next to Blitz.

"You lie, Prime!" Starscream snarled.

"I do not. All will be explained in time, I assure you, but right now Blitz is in urgent need of medical care and repairs, as are his brothers – er, gestaltmates – and these repairs would best be carried out at the Autobot base."

This was not the best thing to say to Starscream being that he was the interim leader of the Decepticons in Megatron's absence. The shriek he emitted left no question as to the origin of his name.

_This_, Prime thought,_ is not going to go well._

* * *

**Haha, Screamer isn't happy! Everything is so screwed up; next chapter will be, too. Hope you enjoyed the screwy-ness! Please review!**

**Also, how would people feel about a Sam/Bee relationship? Yes, no, don't care? I frankly don't mind if I include the pairing or not, but I could go either way at the moment. Anyone care?**


	14. Stranger Than Fiction

**Hiya peeps, sorry for the delay. Believe it or not, the second half of this was written on – drum roll, please – a plane to Hawaii. That's right, be jealous! Haha, actually, I have a killer headache that even a bunch of pre-flight ibuprofen can't alleviate. Anyways, be glad that I'm writing this on vacation; I'm just that devoted to you. So devoted, in fact, that I'm using a really crappy hotel landline internet connection just to post this for all you good people, and I haven't slept in about 23 hours. Bow to me! Or give me something with caffiene, that works too.**

**Big, and I mean BIG plot developments this chapter. Like, MAJOR big. So, enjoy!**

**_Sakura Star_: A few Seeker family moments, definitely more to come in the future. And I would love any kind of cookies! ;) Thanks!**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Transformers or any of its characters; I do own the gestalt and anyone/thing you don't know. The lyrics to "Stranger Than Fiction" belong to Five Finger Death Punch.**

* * *

**_"_****_Verbal grenades_**  
**_You throw in vain_**  
**_I can't believe you'd stoop so low_**  
**_Of all the things you took away_**  
**_I miss my mind the most"_**

_~ "Stranger Than Fiction" – Five Finger Death Punch_

It took about ten Earth minutes to convince the Decepticon trine to come peacefully to the Autobot base. They would have argued more, but Crash had cut in, telling them that, no matter what they thought, Blitz was going back to the Autobot base, and that was that, and they could tag along if they wanted to, but they had better hold their glossas because otherwise he was going to frag them up. That, plus the reminder that their newfound sparkling was in need of medical care that they were incapable of providing at the Decepticon headquarters.

Grudgingly, the trine had agreed to follow to the Autobot base; disconcertingly enough, they already knew where it was. Had Red Alert been there, he would have fallen over in shock and begun glitching. As it were, Sly almost did so himself, even though he had never been to the Autobot's current base. It could always be counted on the 'Bots to have at least one paranoid glitchy mech in attendance.

The only real problem was convincing Sly that he could still trust the Autobots. Crash had muttered something to him to placate him for the moment, but even Crash himself was sending cautious, guarded looks at the other Cybertronians. In the end Phantom and Blitz were loaded into the back of Optimus Prime's alt mode, where Crash kept watch over his brothers' vitals, succeeding in stabilizing their sparks. Sly, though he didn't like it, was sent to pick up Miles from where he had been all but stranded at the gestalt's warehouse; he would then head to the Autobots' base using coordinates sent to him by Crash.

Upon reaching the Autobot's base, Crash took over all medical proceedings involving his brothers, much to Ratchet's disdain. All of the humans and most of the 'Bots, excluding Ratchet, Optimus, and Perceptor, had been forced to remain outside the medbay, as both Ratchet and Crash insisted it was too small to have them all standing around, and those in the medbay were at the mercy of Crash's wrath. Every time the more seasoned medic attempted to do something without Crash's express approval, the young field medic would, as Sam would say, "freak out". Crash had already went through multiple angry rants and temper tantrums, slinging hisses and curse words at any and all who dared to come anywhere near his gestalt, including the Seekers, who restricted themselves to a patch of wall near the medical berth where Blitz lay.

The Autobots were baffled. Crash had always been so amiable and friendly towards others. Now he treated them like they were Decepticons. Slag, he treated them just like he did the Decepticons, the same as he did the Seeker trine. Crash was curt and angry towards both Ratchet and Optimus Prime, two of the few mechs in the world who he had, at least in the past, respected and followed without doubt or hesitation.

Ratchet decided that he'd had enough as Crash continued to rant and rave, carefully placing a cloth sheet over Blitz's faceplates as he went so he no longer had to keep blocking it from view. "Crash, by Primus if you don't hold your glossa and let someone help I _will_ have you bodily removed from the room."

Crash's head shot up, optics glowing unnaturally bright under his visor. With slow, dangerous movements, he turned from his place over Phantom's body. With slow, precise words, he said in a quiet, monotonous and slightly insane tone, "If you tried, I would rip you limb from limb."

The Autobots reeled. Who the slag was this, and what had happened to the Crash they knew? Phantom they could see making a statement like that, but Crash, never. The Seekers, unsurprisingly, snickered at the angered remark.

Cannon shots rang out from outside the medbay doors, and all present turned and tensed, ready for a fight. Slamming through the doors came a disheveled, dented, dirty, and disgruntled Slysight, the same manic look in his optics that Crash had. Ironhide stood behind him, rubbing at a singe mark on his leg.

"Fragger shot me!" he complained loudly. Hound and the twins peeked into the room behind him, but were not permitted entrance as the door shut behind Ironhide and Sly.

"Shut it!" hissed the short mech, optics wide. He'd left Miles in the outer room with Sam, Bumblebee, and all others not allowed in the room, so he had no qualms about having one of his own infamous glitch fests to outdo Crash.

Before he could begin, Crash sent him a brief message requesting assistance in fixing Phantom and Nightshade's leg. Letting his glitch fall to the background if only for the moment, the mech walked briskly to his brother's side, the pair repairing the wound in silence.

Once again, Ratchet tried to figure out what exactly had so upset the pair. "Will you at least let me look over Blitz?"

That glares he received were the only answer.

"What is wrong with you two?" the medic pushed on.

"Nothing's wrong, Ratchet," seethed Crash, dental plates gritted. Ratchet was slightly stunned. Ratch, Hatchet, Medic Extraordinaire, Grumpy – all were names the CMO was used to Crash calling him. He had never before heard Crash refer to him by his true designation.

A new thought struck the elder medic, one that could possibly explain a little about the canyon of space that had opened between the gestalt and the other Autobots. He thought of a simple question.

"Crash," began Ratchet carefully. "How long have you been on Earth?"

The silver medic froze. His mouth opened and he paused once again, thinking something over. A strangled sound came out, and he finally said, "Not too long."

"Give me an exact range of time; an estimation." Ratchet watched carefully for the mech's response and reaction.

Again he struggled to respond, and then mumbled in a strangled voice, "Dunno, maybe thousand years or so."

A small voice came from one of the humans who had crept into the room behind Ironhide to watch the proceedings, unnoticed. "But you said you came here back in Ancient Greek times," Miles Lancaster said with wide eyes. "That's way over a thousand years ago."

"Is this true?" inquired Ratchet with a measured tone.

"No," Crash replied simply. At the same time, Slysight said, "Yeah."

The CMO stared in shock at the pair. "You just lied to me," Ratchet murmured in shocked disbelief.

"No," the young medic repeated, sounding slightly unnerved and more than a little upset.

Ratchet silently com'ed Prime on a private channel.

**Yes, Ratchet?** inquired the Prime upon receiving the ping.

**Crash lied to me.**

**I believe you already said that aloud.** If someone could sound amused over a com. link, Optimus did.

**Stop being a smartaft!** Ratchet admonished his leader. **He lied to me. Crash hasn't lied to me since his first few orns on the **_**Ark**_**.**

**Even with his glitch?**

**I told him to tell me the truth, no matter what. You know I can take it.**

**Why would he lie to you?** Prime sounded truly bemused.

**Optimus, when Crash trusts someone, he can moderate his glitch to the point where he can consciously choose to tell the truth or not, though to what degree is another matter.**

Prime felt a sense of unease and trepidation come over him. **What do you mean, exactly?**

**I mean that I don't think Crash trusts me any longer.** Ratchet, the grumpy, battle-hardened Chief Medical Officer of the Autobots actually sounded upset by this. **If he trusted me, or any of us, for that matter, he wouldn't be so antagonistic and he would have told me the truth. He struggled when trying to answer my question, a sign that he realized he was lying, but his distrust combined with his glitch overrode his response, forcing him to say what he didn't intend to.**

**What do you suggest we do?**

Ratchet paused for a moment, thinking, before responding, **Proceed with caution. Don't do anything that any of the gestalt may take as a threat. Ignore their rudeness, don't go near any of them without their express permission, and do not get angry or annoyed with them; doing so will only alienate them further.**

**I shall tell the others,** Prime sent before cutting the link.

While Ratchet and Prime had been silently communicating, Crash and Sly had been hard at work, or rather, Crash had while he used his brother as an assistant and lackey. The leg of the eldest gestalt member was almost completely repaired in all forms but aesthetics when a knock was heard on the doors, the only prelude for the doors being kicked in. Behind them stood Grimlock, looking quite satisfied with his handiwork. As an explanation, he only said in broken English, "Us Dinobots wanted to see gestalt." Behind him, his brothers nodded.

Upon seeing said gestalt, the conscious members of which were looking at the newcomers warily, the Dinobots burst into the room. Slysight was promptly snatched up in a hug by Sludge, while Swoop crushed Crash against him, the entire time telling him joyously how happy he was to see him again. Slag and Snarl were glaring at the Seekers and contemplating if they should ignore their orders to let them be and just kill them already. Grimlock watched these proceedings, refusing to openly show how happy he was to see the gestalt again, and also feeling smug that his continued insistence that the gestalt was alive all these vorns hadn't been in vain. For once, the Dinobots were right. How's that for irony?

"Down!" a muffled voice called out, coming from Slysight, whose faceplates were being crushed against Sludge's chest plating. The special operations mech was very still and stiff in the Dinobot's embrace, not at all comfortable with the current situation. Crash, too, had stiffened, though he wasn't on the brink of glitching, unlike his younger brother. Reluctantly, the Dinobots released the gestalt members.

"You let the behemoth idiots in but not your actual soldiers?" Starscream mocked deprecatingly, using English so even the worthless fleshbags could understand the wittiness of his remark.

Nobody had the chance to rebuke this statement, because a scraping, wrenching noise came from the berth in front of the Seeker trine. More precisely, the sound came from the Seeker on the berth attempting to move though he had more than a few busted joints and struts. Crash quickly abandoned his post at Nightshade's side and rushed to Blitz, muttering softly and soothingly to him all the while.

"Hey, hey, Blitzy, calm down, yer okay, were all okay." He paused and watched the mech for a moment. "There's a sheet on yer head 'cause ya got yer mask broken. It don't matter, anyways, 'cause yer optics are completely screwed over, at least one of 'em is. I'm gonna have to do a lot of work on ya, Bro."

Crash once again paused, and then continued speaking in a way that confused all others present, excluding Slysight. "Yeah, technically some of 'em saw yer faceplates...Primus above, stop shriekin' will ya, ya emotionally unstable femme!" This was extremely odd, considering that Blitz, per usual, had not verbally uttered a sound. Though most of the Autobots, excluding Bumblebee, soon understood that a conversation was being had both verbally and mentally across the gestalt bond, the humans and the Decepticons were baffled and more than a little unnerved at Crash's apparent display of insanity.

"Blitz, shut yer freakin' mouth! It ain't my fault y'all run 'round all reckless just 'cause yer upset." His voice changed to a much more friendly tone as he said, "By the by, the 'Con trine are yer creators...they're standin' right next to ya...Stop with the screechin', yer gonna mess with my CPU! Primus above, jus' 'cause yer pissy don't mean ya gotta behave like a mech with sparklin' who just got told that they were outta energon goodies."

Slysight approached his brothers, swiping at his audios and checking to be sure that no energon was leaking from them. "Feels like my circuits fried," he mutter quietly to himself, referring to the phantom sensation brought on by Blitz's mental screaming as he railed against everything he had been told upon onlining.

Blitz continued his vain attempts to move, to the point where Crash lightly slapped the side of his helm, where the injuries were but scratches. "Cut it out," he admonished his brother softly, but with no real anger. "Yer gonna mess yerself up more."

"Can he hear us?" inquired Skywarp nervously, wringing his talons. His trinemates leaned forward as well, eager to hear about their sparkling who they hadn't seen in oh so long.

Crash looked to Blitz momentarily, and then back at the trine. He told them, "I ain't gonna repeat what he just said, 'cause he didn't know who said it." Turning back to his brother, he muttered in response to the silently posed question, "Skywarp."

Silence reigned for a long moment, Crash watching the injured Seeker intently, before he returned his gaze to the Decepticons. "He says he's sorry for his earlier remark."

"What did he say?" huffed Starscream, arms crossed over his cockpit in defiance of, well, nothing.

"Ya don't wanna know," Crash murmured, Slysight nodding vigorously in agreement beside him.

"What did he say?" inquired dangerously the trine leader with narrowed ruby optics.

Crash exhaled loudly. "He said, and I quote, 'Do those slaggers think I'm deaf again, 'cause I swear I'll frag them up when I get off this Primus-forsaken berth. Pit-spawned creator-interfacers think that just 'cause I don't talk I'm suddenly a complete invalid. I'll show them invalid when my pede is shoved up their fragged afts.'"

All were quiet, except for Sly, who supplied congenially, "Blitz has a dirty glossa."

"Apparently," Prime said, trying to break the silence that had taken over. Everyone stared at him until Blitz feebly lifted a singed arm and used it to smack Crash in the abdomen.

"Frag!" exclaimed the assailed as he brought his servos to the point of contact, pressing on the plating there. "Slagger's confined to a freakin' berth and he still hits hard." The trine looked perversely proud at this.

"May we have some time alone with our creation?" asked Thundercracker, speaking for the first time since arriving on the base. Crash and Slysight stared at him, until the former nodded slowly.

"Let me fix him up so he's not lookin' like such a sorry sight and I'll give ya some time with 'em. No tryin' to recruit him, though. Trust me, I _will_ know." Crash gestured to his own helm, waggling his fingers in a poor attempt to symbolize the gestalt bond.

Crash and Slysight began to work on repairing Blitz's wing. After Blitz learned what an "idiotic, overly-prideful pile of scrap" Crash had been acting like, the young Seeker demanded that Ratchet and Perceptor, and even Swoop, who, like his brothers had refused to leave the medbay, assist in the repairs, which allowed for things to be fixed much more quickly. The humans, forgotten in the activity, ran interference between the medbay and the mechs outside it, passing along information on the new occurrences. Soon, Blitz's wing had been reattached, though he still needed a lot of buffing and a new paintjob.

Because Blitz refused to allow anyone but his brothers to see his faceplates, the others had to be shooed from the medbay, save for the Decepticons, who refused to leave, declaring that they had already seen everything, anyway, and they didn't plan on leaving soon. Crash quickly replaced Blitz's broken optic. Until he could get some green glass, Blitz had to deal with blue, giving him two mismatched optics – one an Autobot blue, one the original green. Blitz still refused to see anybody knowing that they could see his faceplates, leading Crash to remove his own visor and place it over Blitz's visage, covering the majority of the damage. Anything else, he said, Blitz would just have to deal with. The young Seeker, never one to be ungrateful, sent a silent message of thanks to his brother, who only smiled slightly in response before pulling a partition around the group of Seekers and leaving the area, dragging Slysight behind him.

The Seekers watched Blitz for a while; he watched them as well, thinking about how this meeting was reminiscent of the one he'd had with the Aerialbots so long ago, only now he was looking at the newcomers through Crash's visor instead of his own.

Grabbing a stray datapad that Crash had "just happened" to leave next to his berth, Blitz scrawled a greeting to the Seeker trine, his creators.

_Uh, hi._

The elder Seekers read this message as if it was a sign from Primus. Their first real direct contact with their creation! They were ecstatic, but, being Decepticons, did not show this, leading Blitz to feel that maybe he had done something wrong. Looking for anything to end the awkward silence, Blitz quickly wrote another message.

_You know, I remember you guys, a little bit at least. I sorta remember when you put me on the ship to, uh, Praxus, right? I remember thinking about you guys when I first met the Autobots, too._

This small note, this little grouping of characters, was the most wonderful thing that the Decepticon trine had seen in so very long. Their creation remembered them! He knew who they were, and he didn't seem to be angry with them! Unable to restrain himself any longer, Skywarp launched himself at the black and blue youngling, tackling him back onto the berth with a resounding _CLANG._

The purple Decepticon hugged his creation to him, close to sobbing in relief and joy. Blitz, still aching from his earlier attack, mentally groaned at the movement and impact, but did not protest the embrace. It was...comforting, oddly. It felt the way he had always expected a hug from a creator to feel, except it was even better. There were no words to describe the intense feeling of love, of protection, of belonging completely and totally, of knowing that you were wanted and cherished. Shakily, Blitz raised an arm and wrapped it around the Seeker's back and cinched it lightly, his own soft return of the hug.

That was all the motivation Starscream and Thundercracker needed to join the hug, forming a pile of quivering wings and limbs on the medical berth, all shaking with pent up emotion. Finally, they were complete. They were a family again.

* * *

Crash smiled briefly as he felt the torrent of emotions sliding across the bond from Blitz. He would admit he had been worried about how the reunion between creators and creation would go. Luckily, the happy family was together again. Crash released air from his vents. If only they all could be so lucky.

He walked to the other end of the medbay, going to check up on Phantom. The others had been allowed into the medbay, as no procedures were currently being performed. All had been forced to agree to leave the Seekers in peace if they wished to enter, something that was hard for the twins and Ironhide to agree with. Still, they had relented.

Hound held a silent vigil next to Nightshade's berth, holding the black mech's servo between his own. The twins stood behind him looking remorseful. Off to the side, Sam was interrogating Miles, the yellow runt, er, _Bumblebee_, standing behind him, arms crossed, mirroring his charge's position.

"I was wondering how you could have gotten a Porsche," Sam was muttering, shaking his head tiredly.

"Crash is a Porsche?" asked Miles, clueless. "Huh, I never would've guessed." Sadly, he wasn't being sarcastic.

His best friend chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. Crash grinned once more, vaguely realizing that he was still visor-less and ignoring the odd feeling, and moved to stand next to Ratchet, who was scanning Nightshade's helm and frowning.

"What up?" Crash inquired quietly, feeling awkward around his old mentor after his behavior. Blitz insisted that it was all a big misunderstanding, an unusual thing for him, which lead Crash to believe that maybe he, too, had overreacted, and should give the Autobots a second chance. In trepidation he waited for the CMO's reply.

"Must you use improper grammar?" the elder medic sighed exasperatedly. Crash grinned broadly, delighted to have been forgiven.

"Ya know," the silver medic muttered to his mentor. "I did medic work out of my holoform durin' a bunch of wars, and do ya know what method was employed a lot, especially during the 18th and 19th centuries?" Ratchet shook his helm, still glaring unhappily at the scanner in his servos. Crash was only too happy to tell him.

"They taught this to all medics and doctors: When in doubt, cut it off."

Ratchet finally looked up from his scanner to stare incredulously at the silver mech, who was giving him a shit-eating grin. Checking the World Wide Web to confirm what he had been told, the medic groaned audibly. "Not a word," he hissed at the field medic, who continued to grin at him smugly.

The CMO checked the scan's results, and once again scowled at the them.

"What's wrong?" asked Crash, leaning over the other's shoulder for a better view.

"It's this scan – it keeps giving me odd results."

"How so?"

Ratchet entered his "serious medic" mode. "I know from working on Nightshade vorns ago that the dominant part of the personality, Nightshade, is housed in this area of the CPU." He pointed to a region on the scan. "The secondary personality, the one attached to the glitch, is over here." Ratchet pointed to the other area, one that Crash recognized as being directly related to glitches.

"Phantom was the last conscious personality, correct?" Ratchet looked to the younger for affirmation, which he promptly received. "Well, the scanner keeps showing that the last physically conscious and active personality was the dominant personality, though you know for sure that Phantom was the last personality in control of their body, right?" Again, Crash nodded. Ratchet was then silent, thinking hard as a new idea occurred to him.

"Crash," he asked, "When you first met Nightshade, when you were gestalt bonded to him, Phantom already existed, correct?"

"Yeah; we were all glitched before the bondin', except for possibly Blitzy. Ha, we just helped frag 'im up."

Ignoring the comment, Ratchet continued. "You never knew for sure who the first personality was, did you?"

Crash's optics moved closer in confusion. "What do ya mean? Nightshade's the dominant personality; he's always out the most."

"I understand that, but could it be possible that Nightshade is the...secondary personality? I've used multiple scanners and a multitude of scans, and all results suggest that the dominant personality was last in control, and we know the last conscious personality to be Phantom. Could it be that Nightshade was the personality created by the glitch?"

"No," Crash responded immediately, but the facts _did_ add up. He then muttered, "Maybe, but it seems farfetched."

"I know, but think about it. Phantom could be the dominant personality, but remain dormant more than his secondary personality. Especially in young sparklings, secondary personalities are often created when the original finds it hard to connect with the outside world – that describes Phantom perfectly, antisocial with problems with properly communicating with others. If Phantom needed a way to communicate with the world around him, he may have created Nightshade to do so. Nightshade is kind, caring, friendly – everything that Phantom's not. After a while, Phantom may have subconsciously realized that Nightshade had an easier time with others, and decided to place that personality on the forefront more often, to make life easier for the spark as a whole. Because he was so young when it happened, neither he nor Nightshade would remember being without the other, so nobody would be the wiser as to who came first."

Crash numbly sat on a free berth, CPU reeling at the influx of information. Luckily, Blitz was too wrapped up in his reunion to notice this new piece of information, and Slysight was too busy staring uneasily at the yellow runt.

"They're not gonna like this, Shaders and Van," Crash muttered, sending a glance at said brothers, ensuring that Hound and the twins had not hear the conversation taking place. "Van, he doesn't have the whole issue with harmin' others, I'm sure ya know. He thought of himself as a part of 'Shade, and that was that; he never had any remorse about 'messin' with Night's life'. Nightshade, though – he'd feel guilty as all get out if he knew that he was supposedly harmin' Van, holdin' him back, makin' him glitch. Slag, it hurts my head just to think 'bout it. I need some busywork, somethin' to do with my servos." Sadly, all medic work, it seemed, was done for the moment.

Ratchet watched the young medic sadly, sorry to have brought such a solemn revelation on him. Grabbing the other by the shoulders, he brought the maskless medic to his feet. "Come with me."

Crash followed Ratchet to a small room set off of the rest of the medbay, one used for long-term occupants. There, on a berth, lay the offlined body of Jazz, painted silver instead of his old black and white.

"Holy Primus," Crash murmured, optics wide and fearful. "Is he-?" He couldn't bring himself to finish the statement. Ratchet alleviated his fears quickly.

"Not deactivated, but badly damaged. Megatron literally tore him in two during the battle of Mission City, if you've heard of it."

"Heard of it? Ha, that's what brought us here in the first place. Leave it to Jazz to take on Megs by himself. How bad is he?"

"We almost lost him. We thought his spark flickered out multiple times, but somehow it held on. We were able to repair him physically, but he entered stasis lock. Being that the idiot is healthy, physically, we think that only a direct link to his spark, one of mate, creator, or creation could wake him up now. Sadly, we haven't heard from Prowl yet."

"It's sad," Crash muttered, watching the saboteur's darkened visor morosely. "The two of 'em bein' split up. They're good together, those two." Ratchet grunted his agreement.

Feeling oddly sentimental, as he was prone to be, Crash reached out a servo and lay it over the third in command's chassis, lightly tracing the faint weld lines that only a trained optic would notice, bringing it to rest over the other's spark chamber, feeling the faintest of pulses there. The something supremely strange happened.

Under Crash's palm, the young medic was sure he could feel the faint sparkbeat pick up, pulsing faster and stronger. He tore his servo from the cold chassis, only to have Ratchet replace it there as soon as it stopped making contact. The elder medic pressed Crash's servo to Jazz's spark chamber, nodding for the young medic to see what the contact was doing. Bright blue light began to seep through the seams of Jazz's armor, all resonating from his spark chamber.

"What's happenin'?" inquired Crash fearfully.

Ratchet only pressed his hand harder to Jazz's chassis. "I don't know, but whatever it is, it's working."

A large pulse of light shot through the unconscious saboteur, all resonating from the mech's spark chamber, over which Crash's servo lay. Jazz's limbs convulsed as if seizing before lying still once more. Abruptly, the sounds of systems whirring to life echoed through the room, and a visor glowed a bright, Caribbean blue.

Lifting his helm wearily, Jazz looked around the room, optics and visor resting on the mech whose servo rested over his spark. Shock coursed through him, and a grin lit his features.

"You're alive," he breathed joyfully.

Crash's optics dimmed as, for the first time in his existence, his processors locked up.

* * *

**Haha, you got THAT right people! Crash IS Prowl and Jazz's creation! I dumped a crudload of hints this chapter - Crash is a Porsche, like Jazz's alt mode in G1, I've always implied that Crash looks like Bayformers Jazz but taller, Crash fancies himself a statistician, he likes music a lot, and, as the last sentence says, his processors lock up at something really shocking.**

**The final total for the poll on who the readers believed their creation to be (you can see the closed poll on my profile): out of 18 participants (none of which were me, mind you), we had 8 for Slysight, 7 for Nightshade/Phantom, and 3, that's right, **_**3**_** people who were correct in that Crash is the mystery creation. Those three people, cyber-cookies for you! Everyone else, well, I'm happy to know that I AM that confusing. Aw, what the hell, cookies for everyone! YAY!**

**By the way, a review would be much obliged, thanks much!**


	15. Here is Gone

**This is a little late, and I planned to get more done in this chapter than I did, but my plot bunny wouldn't let me. I hope you all like it, anyway. And, for those of you that mentioned it, I had a great time in Hawaii. If anything is messed up with the formatting or lines, it's because Fan Fiction is being pissy again and keeps messing it up just to show that it can. It literally refused to let me center the lyrics, even when I added a crapload of spaces to do so. If anyone knows what I need to do to fix this, I would greatly appreciate some advice. Yes, I am aware that the opening formatting looks like a drunk person did it, and it's all the site's fault, not mine. I'm quite pissed with Fan Fiction at the moment.**

_**Toa_Kage**_**: Thank you so much for all of the positive remarks! Seriously, your review made my day. I have never been told that something I wrote was epic before. I feel oddly proud. Thanks for the awesome review!**

**Disclaimer:** **I do not own Transformers or any of its characters; I do own the gestalt and anyone/thing you don't know. The lyrics to "Here is Gone" belong to the Goo Goo Dolls.**

**

* * *

****"_I'm not the one who broke you  
I'm not the one you should fear  
We got to move you darlin'  
I thought I lost you somewhere  
But you were never really ever there at all"_**

_~ "Here is Gone" – Goo Goo Dolls_

Jazz crept in the shadows, regretting the creaks his form made from disuse. Ratchet had asked him to stay out of his sparkling's vision while he onlined him, so that's what he was doing.

That made the saboteur smile widely. His creation was alive. Prowl was going to be so happy when he arrived on Earth.

Thinking of Prowl brought worry to Jazz's ecstatic spark. He wasn't sure if Prowler had felt his "death" over their bond. Jazz hoped with all he had that Prowl hadn't. It would have been extremely painful, and it would have broken his bonded's spark. He knew he wouldn't have lasted thinking that both his bondmate and their creation were deactivated.

It was pretty amusing that he had caused his own youngling's processors to lock up. Then again, that sort of thing was prone to happen when one found that not only did they bring an officer out of stasis lock by touching them, but that said officer was one of their creators. And when their other creator was Prowl, the reigning champion when it came to processor lockups, the chances of said lockups occurring were greatly increased. It was in that area that Bluestreak was lucky to have not been a biological creation of the pair.

Now if he could only explain to his creation that he hadn't been abandoned, they could all move on and be a happy family. After all, from what Ratchet had briefly told him about what had happened after he "died," that Sam kid had killed Megatron and ended the war.

Jazz's helm shot up when he heard the telltale sounds of a mech's systems onlining. With rapt attention he watched his little sparkling online. _Well, not so little anymore_, he thought ruefully. All of that height had to have come from somewhere on Prowl's side, because he was almost definitely shorter than Crash by now.

Slinking farther into his corner, Jazz couldn't help but peer out at his only creation as he onlined.

"Aw slag... What the Pit did I do to my head, mech? Feel like I got run over by a freakin' steamroller."

The accent his sparkling had picked up from Primus-knew-where was absolutely adorable. He had always found it to be endearing. Apparently Mirage had, too. Jazz hadn't been able to have a "talk" with his underling about his "pursuits" of his sparkling because the relationship had been a secret from everyone, including Crash, but now that things were out in the open... Well, Mirage would be in for quite the "chat" with his supervising officer when he reached Earth. That wasn't even including Prowl's side of the threats.

"Your processors locked up, you idiot."

"Idiot? How is it my fault? I don't even know what causes processor lock-ups!"

"What kind of medic doesn't know about processor lock-ups?" Ratchet asked, or rather snarled. It was nice that he and Crash had been able to fall back into their old routine of banter.

"I'm a field medic, Hatchet! Lay off! Glitches and battle wounds are my specialty, not chronic malfunctions. I mean, I know _why_ from textbook descriptions and from Pr- er, our humble SIC, that it's caused by information that the logic processor can't understand, and it then overheats an' all that fun slag, but I don't know why _I_ had a crash."

Ratchet watched his protégé, as Jazz himself would say, carefully. He doubted that Crash had forgotten his resurrection of Jazz, but he couldn't be sure. Processor locks could result in temporary memory loss, but it wasn't often. Still, one could never be too careful. He pulled out his scanner and ran it over the field medic, who twitched and fidgeted under the machine's and his mentor's scrutiny.

"What? What is it?"

The CMO grunted when nothing amiss appeared in the scan. There was nothing wrong with Crash's CPU – well, more wrong than normal – so the "memory loss" could probably be chalked up to sheer denial.

"Crash," he asked carefully, not wanting to set off the other in what was probably a surprisingly delicate mental state. "You do remember what happened before your processors locked, correct?"

"Of course I do! I put my hand on Jazz an' he got all glowy an' shit an' woke up an' my processors locked up."

"Do you know why that happened?"

Jazz watched as Crash stared at the elder medic through his grey visor that was oh-so-similar to his own.

"Uh, 'cause I just woke up an officer by virtually pokin' his gut?"

Jazz and Ratchet both took the time to look up what a "gut" was before Ratchet responded. "Crash, you're lying to me and to yourself, and you know how I feel about being lied to, especially by you."

"Uh, hey, I dunno if my bros felt me pass out or anythin', but they might be worryin' 'bout me so maybe I should go check on 'em and let 'em know I'm okay-"

"You and I both know that nobody is focusing on your gestalt link at the moment and that you were only out for a few Earth minutes. Now tell me why you really think you passed out."

Crash continued to stall. "Hey, where is Jazz, anyway?"

"Crash," Ratchet said, employing his best I'm-the-medic-you-better-answer-me-before-I-turn-you-into-a-toaster look.

The younger medic sighed and fidgeted, tapping his foot anxiously. Wringing his servos, he said, "Ya told me he could only be brought outta stasis by someone with a direct link to his spark. But ya have to be wrong, 'cause I woke 'im up."

"He's not wrong," Jazz said, stepping out of the shadows. He ignored the scowl Ratchet was sending him. The CMO began to mutter about "stupid slaggers who can't listen to what they're told."

It was pretty laughable when Crash fell off of the medical berth that Jazz had been permanently occupying not too long ago in shock.

"Zombie corpses!" he shrieked before pausing in his screams of terror. "That's a lil' redundant, isn't it? I mean, bein' a zombie automatically implies that one is a corpse, don't it?"

"It does," Jazz conceded, following his youngling's changes in mood and topic of conversation like they were completely normal. That made sense, considering that Crash had received that trait from Jazz himself. "But ya also said 'corpses,' which implies more than one zombie, and there's only me when it comes to the whole back from the dead thing."

"True. I do have craptastic grammar." With that, his shouts recommenced.

"Zombie apocalypse! We're all gonna die! Holy Primus what if they're cannibals? We're all gonna be eaten! Well, the humans might be fine, but then again I'm not human, am I? I don't wanna die, I already been there and it wasn't fun the first time!"

"You died?" inquired Ratchet incredulously.

"Stasis-lock, close enough." The screams then continued.

"I like bein' alive!"

A clang resounded as a wrench bounced off of Crash's helm. He fell to the floor that he'd already been sitting on and passed out. Ratchet applauded himself for his fine aim.

"All these vorns and I still can knock out a mech with one precise hit," he gloated to nobody in particular.

"Why'd ya do that?" Jazz looked at his youngling forlornly. He'd just awoken and he hadn't even gotten the chance to truly speak with him!

"He'll be fine. This used to happen in the medbay all the time before the gestalt...left. He usually wakes up in a few Earth minutes.

Jazz, one of the most lenient officers the Autobots had to offer, was floored that his baby – wow, he was really getting into the Earth terms – had been receiving treatment like this for so long.

"What?"

"Oh stuff it, you over-protective glitch. And yes, I am smart enough to realize that Crash is your creation, even if he's in too much denial to admit it. Crash is fine with it; it was sort of a joke around the medbay. I had to start threatening him with that when his glitch acted up or his singing got particularly bad. He's fine, trust me. I'd rather hear about why you and Prowl didn't tell me, or Prime, or Crash, for that matter, about this."

"Me an' Prowler already told ya back on Praxus that we didn't wanna risk our younglin's life by keepin' him with us. We thought he would be safest with Elita's crew. Don't know how he ended up in a gestalt, though."

"I understand why you would have given Crash up, but why didn't you tell him?"

"I'd kinda like to know that too." The pair of officers spun to see the young field medic sitting in his place on the floor, smiling softly. Without his usual visor, one could see that the expression traveled up his scarred face and to his optics as well. Jazz could only continue to stare, memorizing the uncovered face of his creation who he had believed to be deceased for so long.

Crash, who had a terrible habit of babbling when nervous due to his hyperactive glitch, continued talking.

"We could have one o' those happy family moments like Blitzy's havin' now, but I know yer too cool for that, so ya could, uh, jus' stay over there if yer more comfortable like that and I'll jus' go, 'cause obviously ya didn't tell me 'cause ya didn't wanna have to deal with me and my glitch, an' I totally understand that, bein' that I'm kinda a pain and all, so I'm jus' gonna go now-"

The Porsche was silenced by the silver arms enveloping him, pulling him to a matching silver chassis.

"None o' that now, love. Don't want ya ever thinking that, you hear me? Never."

Crash stayed frozen, his uncovered faceplates revealing more than small amounts of fear, confusion and anxiety. Nobody had ever hugged him but his brothers. Besides, this was an Autobot officer! An Autobot officer who was apparently one of his creators, but an officer all the same. He felt more than a little awkward.

Like Blitz had with his own creators, he tentatively wrapped his arms around the officer, who only clutched him more tightly. Over Jazz's shoulder he could see Ratchet wandering aimlessly around the medbay, desperately trying to look like he wasn't watching the pair.

As Jazz continued to hold him, Crash began to relax. This wasn't so bad. It was actually kind of..._nice_.

It would have remained that nice if Slysight hadn't started screaming.

* * *

Back in the rest of the medbay Jazz's resurrection remained unknown to the rest of the Autobots-plus-Decepticon-trine, just as Jazz stayed blissfully unaware of the trine's presence.

Slysight stared at the yellow wonder through narrowed blue optics. He didn't know who this new guy was, but he didn't trust him. Plus, the yellow midget, as his brothers had taken to calling him, was standing very close to Sam, the human who Miles was friends with. Being that Sly felt some sort of protectiveness towards the latter, probably due to the influence of Crash's mind on his own, he did not like this, as Miles would be hurt if something happened to Sam. The weird yellow runt was too close to Miles and Miles' friend.

He crossed his arms and huffed loudly. Blitz was having his reunion, and Crash was off Primus-knew-where. Added that Shade and Van were still offline, Crash was finding himself with a lot of things to rant about and nobody to vent to.

Optimus Prime came to stand behind the jittery grey mech, purposely stepping loudly so he wouldn't be struck with a projectile by the nervous mech. "What's wrong?" he asked quietly, his words for Slysight only.

The younger spun on his heel towards the Prime and hopped back a few steps, putting space between the two. Optimus was glad he had his mouthguard to hide his hurt expression. Sure, he may have shot his poor subordinate across a field and knocked him unconscious, but he wouldn't be too wary of him now, would he?

Oh, wait, yes he would. This was, of course, Slysight, the king of distrust. One wrong move and all of his carefully built relationship with his soldier was gone. Optimus felt as if he should mourn the loss of such faith that was so hard to gain.

"I don't like him," the younger grumbled, glaring at Bumblebee. He still refused to look at the Prime.

Optimus was taken aback. Bumblebee? Slysight didn't like _Bumblebee_? Of all the mechs he could choose to dislike from his own faction, he chose _Bumblebee_. This was just too odd.

"Um, why?" Not many people could make Optimus Prime falter in his usually impeccable speech. Slysight and his gestalt were a few that could.

Sly glared at the leader. "Look at him!" he hissed, optics narrowing even further. "He's obviously not trustworthy. He's already attacked fellow Autobots, and he's been sending us all hostile looks this whole time. I don't know why you allow him near the humans. Personally, I think he's a little unstable and definitely not up to any good."

The Prime had to battle his own urge to laugh at the younger mech's accusations. Really, he had forgotten how quirky and amusing Slysight could be without even trying. He cleared his vents in embarrassment as he said, "If you will recall, I, too, er, attacked you. For that I hope you can forgive me."

The special ops mech stared at the Prime for a moment before waving his servo. "Fine, fine, we're good and all that stuff. For now, at least. Blitz says we should trust you, and Crash is just following him. I'm waiting for Shade and Van's input. Well, it's pretty easy to tell who Nightshade will side with, but Van could go either way. You're on probationary status, Prime."

Slysight said this with such sincerity that Optimus couldn't withhold his chuckle. He had dearly missed these mechs. Sly glared at him, but he, too, had a small smirk on his faceplates.

"Seriously, though, what's with the yellow runt?"

Optimus ignored the fact that Slysight could also be called a "runt" and tried to think of a response. "We found Bumblebee when he was in his mid-youngling stages a few hundred vorns after your gestalt left. As he got older he became a scout for Jazz. He came to Earth before the rest of us on a scouting mission, actually. He's also the guardian of Sam Witwicky, the dark-haired human male over there. I assure you, he's very trustworthy."

The grey mech was stuck on one thing. "He's an ops mech?" he asked slowly. Optimus froze. Ops mechs were a touchy group. Usually, before a new mech was admitted all others had to approve of them. When Sly had joined up Ops on the _Ark_ had only consisted of Jazz and Mirage – it wasn't hard for Slysight to gain their approval.

Considering Slysight had not been there to approve of Bee, he obviously had not done so. He already disliked the yellow runt, er, _scout_...

This could get messy.

Slysight glared at the yellow runt with a renewed vigor. Bumblebee, sick of the rude looks he had been receiving, decided to deal with the newcomer's hostility head on. He told Sam to stay back with Miles and approached the grey mech.

"Do you have a problem with me?" he asked bravely. Slysight's optics narrowed further, if that was even possible.

Optimus tried to step between the two small mechs, but his attempts were fruitless; Slysight just stepped around him.

"Yes, yes I do." Sly didn't even try to explain further.

"Well?" Bee tapped his foot, a trait he had picked up from watching Sam's mother.

Sly continued staring at the younger mech appraisingly. He shook his helm. "How they ever let you in, I'll never know."

"Let me in where?" inquired the minibot angrily.

"Ops," he said simply. "Actually, you're not even technically a member."

This really got on Bee's nerves, so to speak. "Excuse me? How would you even know what goes on in Ops, let alone if I was a member of it?"

The short grey mech gave him a small, smug smirk with no warmth or mirth behind it. He then leaned forward and whispered in Bee's audios.

"'Cause I'm the third member, and I didn't give you the in."

The yellow mech's optics widened comically, and Sly felt a perverse sense of accomplishment he hadn't experienced in vorns.

"You're kidding me. _You're_ Jazz's 'lil' protégée'?"

Sly barely restrained the huge grin that threatened to split his faceplates. He had been gone for Pit knew how long, and Jazz had still been talking about him? It warmed his paranoid little spark.

"Yep. Eat that." He was obviously hanging around with Crash too often if he was resorting to crass human slang. Oh well.

Bee looked at him oddly. "He said you were dead." Then a supremely smug look passed over his faceplates, one that unnerved the already always-anxious mech. "He also told me after my first mission alone that I could probably surpass you."

The scout knew it was a low blow – if this really was Jazz's "protégée" that he had heard about from both Jazz and Mirage, then he was very insecure. Any inkling that he was being replaced made him freak out. Bumblebee did not, however, know that this was due to a paranoia glitch; had he understood just what effect his words would have on the other, the normally kind-sparked minibot would have never said them.

Slysight felt his joints lock. Surpass...him? On his first mission? Ops agents only got better as they went on more missions... After his first mission he could surpass Slysight? But that meant...

He had been replaced.

In shock, all of the mech's firewalls dropped, allowing his glitch to flood his processors with its heavy influence. Replacement was one of his worst fears, no matter the situation. He had been terrified of replacement when he originally left with his gestalt, and now it was coming true right in front of him.

He tried to call his brothers, but they were either unconscious or in their own worlds, and in his current state, Slysight just couldn't get his processors to focus on contacting them. He tried to call out verbally, but the soft cry left his vocalizer as a garbled, muted whimper of a nervous sparkling.

His left servo began to twitch.

Replaced, he had been replaced. Then again, that was what happened when you trusted people. Nobody could be trusted, nobody at all. Jazz, Mirage, no, they had talked about him to the evil yellow runt, discussed how stupid and weak he was. Prime, he liked the runt, said good things about him. He lied. They all lied. All that left their mouths were lies, lies, lies, LIES!

Why had he ever trusted anyone? He was fine, alone with his gestalt. Yes, nice, safe, comfortable, alone. Why had he left his cozy little shell? He'd known that contact with others would always end badly, and here he was, proved right again.

Optimus swore uncharacteristically as Slysight's arms spasmed violently. Everyone in the medbay turned at the unexpected oath. Ironhide was the first to recognize what was happening.

"Aw frag," he muttered. "This is gonna be a bad one."

The twins moved from their place behind Hound towards the commotion. Hound stayed where he was at Nightshade's side, but his optics showed how afraid he was for his love's brother.

Prime quickly took control of the situation. "Everyone who doesn't need to be here, get out. Dinobots, twins, please leave. Hound, you can stay if you keep out of the way for now and help if needed. Sam, Miles, I would like you to leave as well. Things could get very dangerous here, and I don't want either of you to be harmed. Somebody find Wheeljack and tell him we may need his assistance. Ironhide, stay here; I may need your help in restraining him. Bumblebee, you need to tell me _right now_ what you said to Slysight before he started glitching. And for Primus' sake, where are Ratchet and Crash?"

Bee was shocked at such an outburst from his normally unflappable leader. "I just said that after my first mission with special operations Jazz told me that I could match Slysight one orn."

Ironhide thought this over, and then shook his helm. "Nope, that wouldn't have done it. What did you say to him, word for word? This is seriously important, Bumblebee."

"I may have said that Jazz told me I could surpass Slysight..."

"Aw, frag," cursed Optimus, again shocking Bumblebee. He looked away from his leader, though, when Slysight's whole chassis began to convulse viciously. A high, keening wail came from the grey mech, soft, at first, before increasing in volume and pitch until it became a full-out shriek of pain, both mental and physical.

"Slag!" shouted Ironhide, reaching to steady Sly before he fell and hurt himself. The movement towards him triggered a quick response from Slysight and his glitch. He jumped back a few paces and whipped his blade out from where it was sheathed in his arm. The mech's helm shook nervously, his optics twitching and flickering rapidly. The blade vibrated dangerously.

Slysight looked at Ironhide and spoke softly, quietly, as if in a daze. "You're black now, not red. And you used to have an accent. Was that all a lie, too?"

Ironhide, surprised by the seemingly random statement, had to scramble for a response. "The, uh, Earth vehicle I scanned was black, and when I learned English, I didn't learn it from a source that would have given me an accent like my one on Cybertron.

But Slysight was not listening anymore. After all, anything that came from one of their mouths was probably a lie. Instead, he watched as Blitz left his own personal area of the medbay, albeit supported by Thundercracker and Skywarp while Starscream fussed over him and watched Sly warily.

This would not do. It seemed that all of his brothers were surrounded by the untrustworthy enemy. He would have to fix that.

With a blank expression and a determined glitch, Slysight raised his blade and prepared to strike. He would have, but Crash came barreling into the room from some side door, Ratchet and Jazz fast on his heels.

Wait...

...Jazz?

Slysight stared at the mech, confused. His arm hung frozen in the air, still poised to slice into the liars.

Where had Jazz been all of this time? Really, one would've thought that he would have been one of the first on the scene in the case of an attack. So where had he been? Probably plotting ways to trick Slysight, in all reality. It was just so very funny to mock the glitched mech, wasn't it? Wasn't it just a riot to watch him think that you really cared for him, that you really like him? Wasn't it just _so fun_?

"What's happening?" Starscream was looking at him oddly, but was speaking to everyone _but _him. How strange. Didn't he know that you were supposed to look at who you were speaking to? Plus, it's extremely rude to talk about somebody like they aren't in the room. He should know that.

"Is that...Slysight?" Jazz watched in shock at the pose his long-lost protégée seemed to have frozen in, ready to strike down Ironhide at a moment's notice. What had come to this? What had lead for his meek little spy to glitch so badly? He almost never attacked someone while he glitched, after initially meeting the _Ark_'s crew.

Ratchet also noticed the position of Slysight's blade, and felt no small amount of fear, not only for his bondmate, but for his patient with a delicate state of mind.

Slysight didn't really register the looks of shock or concern on anyone's faces, as his glitch, when in full power and under stress, was incapable of comprehending these expressions in the same way that Crash's glitch would not allow him to speak the truth and Phantom's could not process fear.

Speaking of Phantom...

* * *

Blearily, tired red optics onlined to a grey, bland ceiling. It was quite boring, nothing like the _Ark_'s garish orange one that at least allowed him to spend his time coming up with synonyms and phrases that described just how disgustingly ugly the color truly was. Dang, he sounded like Tracks or Sunstreaker. Wait, Sunstreaker...

In a rush it all came back to the mech. Blitz in trouble, the twins shooting him, the Seeker trine being Blitz's creators, some yellow runt attacking him, and...Hound.

Hound had been there.

Nervous in a way he would never admit, Van poked his alternate personality, looking for help and advice, only to find Nightshade to be unconscious. That was odd, but not unheard of. Whichever one of them had been in control of their body before they were sent into stasis lock was always the one who awoke first, and took control of the body as it onlined.

With a start he noticed that someone was holding his servo. Wearily lifting his helm the slightest bit to get a look at who it was, he saw a clean white servo being held in his own, and followed it up a matching arm to a white, concerned face looking at something opposite Phantom.

Hound was here! Phantom didn't know if he should feel happy, or betrayed, or confused – he needed Nightshade to tell him what he was supposed to be feeling!

Following his love's, er, Hound's gaze, he saw Kitten with his blade out, looking like he was about to slice and dice Ironhide with it. Wait, that black mech _was_ old Ironhide, right? It was hard to tell. What was with mechs switching up their paint schemes when they got to Earth? It was just confusing. At least Hound had stayed the same...

Wait, why was Slysight trying to attack someone, anyway?

Clearing his dusty intakes louder than he intended, Phantom succeeded in getting everyone's, including Slysight's, attention on him. He glanced around the room, mildly confused.

"Uh, what'd I miss?"

* * *

**For those of you who don't know, this all takes place in the medbay of the new base, not that of the **_**Ark**_**. It doesn't really matter, but I'm just paranoid that somebody won't understand.**

**Thanks for reading, and please review!**


	16. Scream With Me

**I'm back, fair readers, with more action and angst! This is turning into one of the longest scenes ever. Seriously, they're still in the medbay by the end of the scene. In the long run of the overall story, I shall dub all of these chapters "The Super-Long Medbay Scene of Angst and Revelations!" And yes, it shall end in an exclamation mark! Anyways, on with the angst-fest! Hey, did I forget to mention that it's angsty? 'Cause it is!**

**Mmm, and if you have free time, check out my new profile poll about what stories I should write next! It would be greatly appreciated!**

**_ToaKage_: Thanks! I worked very hard to make that part come out right; it just didn't want to be written.**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Transformers or any of its characters; I do own the gestalt and anyone/thing you don't know. I don't own Hallmark, though – they kind of own themselves. The lyrics to "Scream With Me" belong to Mudvayne, and I'll admit the lyrics are very hard to connect with the chapter, but I couldn't find anything better, and I like the song. And yes, FF did mess with my formatting, AGAIN! And none of this belongs in a disclaimer. Oh well.**

* * *

"_**Ever feel like lying down inside a grave,  
Listen to the eulogy, a buyer of the hate,  
Ever dance beside the devil, taste the barrel of a gauge,  
Ever pull the trigger, the light begins to fade**_

_**Feel like slipping away"**_

_~ "Scream With Me" - Mudvayne_

The group continued to stare at Phantom. He took that time to glean what he had missed from his brothers' minds. Being the paranoid aft that he was, he didn't like it one bit.

"Yep, we're outta here. I ain't putting up with any of this shit. Sly, put the damn blade away and pack up, 'cause we're heading out. Blitz, Crash, say your goodbyes."

Ratchet was the first who could form a response. Hound would have said something, but he was too busy reeling in shock at his love's statement. He felt as if his world was crashing down around him again. What had he done wrong?

"Excuse me?" asked the CMO incredulously. "What the pit are you talking about? You aren't in any condition to leave, nor are your brothers."

"Yeah-huh, sure. Doesn't change that we're leaving. I don't put up with fraggers who harm my family, no matter the circumstances. If you're too stupid and thick-headed to tell when it's your own faction you're attacking, I'm not keeping my boys around to deal with more of your crap."

"It was an accident!" Ironhide exclaimed exasperatedly. "None of us meant it."

"Yeah, well I'm a close-minded slagger who just doesn't care about your excuses. I'm not like baseball – there aren't any strikes. You slip up, you're done."

Slysight, still glitching if his flickering optics meant anything, practically skipped to Phantom's side and retracted his blade to avoid harming his older brother as he helped him off of the berth. A large grin was affixed to his faceplates the whole time before he froze in thought.

"The human! Where'd we put Miles? We have to return him to his parents on the way home..."

"Excuse me? Miles will stay here with Sam until _I_ return him home." Bee wasn't letting his charge's best friend go anywhere with the insane mech.

"And why is that?" asked Slysight lightly. He was assured that the whole thing would work out the way he expected, just because he said so. When one had a glitch in control, such easy assurance came quite freely.

"Because you're crazy!"

The gestalt stopped all movements to turn and stare at Bee. Crash reached up a servo and face-palmed, muttering the whole time, "Oh, ya stupid, ignorant midget!"

Phantom had a look of grim satisfaction on his faceplates. "Yep, I knew it. Way to prove my point, yellow runt. C'mon boys, we're heading out. Crash, go grab your human."

Jazz watched in shock as his youngling nodded his head sullenly and actually left to do as his brother told him. What was going through the gestalt's minds, that they would do this?

"Where...where're ya goin'?" the newly revived mech asked softly. All turned in shock.

"Jazz!" Bee ran over to the saboteur and threw his arms around the other's shoulders. "You're alive! But how?"

Jazz only shook his helm. What was happening? His sparkling couldn't be...leaving, could he? Not yet. He'd just gotten him back and was promising himself that he wouldn't let his creation out of his sights ever again, and here his baby was leaving!

Crash returned to the room, Miles uneasily sitting in his servo and holding onto his thumb for dear life. The medic smiled at him softly and whispered something to him that made him laugh. It obviously comforted the teenage boy. Sam snuck in next to the medic's pede, but it was pretty obvious that the Porsche knew he was there, considering he carefully stepped over Sam as he scurried to Bumblebee's side and allowed the bemused yellow mech to place him on his shoulder.

The third in command could only watch his creation as he rejoined his gestalt, tapping Blitz's arm in passing and nodding his mask-free head at the rest of their brothers. Expending air from his vents, a noise the jet could make without use of his vocalizer, the Seeker followed his brothers, much to the horror of his creators.

Phantom turned from the Autobots and looked around the medbay. "Now where the hell is the exit of this place?" Happily, Sly showed him the way. The other two of the gestalt followed after, Miles in tow.

"Wait!" Optimus Prime called out candidly. "You can't just leave!"

Van turned and raised an optic ridge. "Um, yeah, we can. You got no hold over us. We were legally declared MIA and assumed dead vorns ago. That technically officially discharges us from the Autobot ranks."

"But you're back! You obviously aren't dead."

"Are we?" Phantom lifted and optical ridge and leaned heavily on Slysight when he staggered – apparently his leg was sorer than he had let on. "Are we really?"

The black mech's optics suddenly flickered. "Aw, shit. Really, right now? _Now?_" As if in response, his optics flashed a bright blue and then back to their normal violet before flashing blue more permanently. He looked around the room confusedly.

"What are we doing...oh no. He didn't. Please, please tell me he didn't!" The mech buried his head in his servos and moaned, rocking back and forth as he did so. "Oh Primus, it's all so fragged up! Why, oh why do you have to be such a slagger, Van? What'd I do to deserve this?"

It was quite obviously Nightshade. Blitz placed a servo on the anxious mech's arm. Miles looked worriedly at the tall mech from where he had been transferred to the field medic's shoulder; Crash spoke to him softly, again trying to comfort his charge.

"Nightshade?" asked Optimus tentatively.

The other's helm shot up; blue optics were wide and scared. He almost immediately broke into his patented nervous-Nightshade-babble.

"Optimus Prime, sir! I'm so sorry about this. I didn't, he didn't mean it. We're all just nervous and confused and unsure of the situation and I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it; he's just overprotective and all. Please forgive us!"

The Autobots looked confusedly at the poor SUV-former who started murmuring nonsensically about how sorry he was. It wasn't often that they saw one of the gestalt leader's own glitch attacks, and they almost never came so soon after one of his brothers'. Hound broke from the group.

"Shaders!" He ran up to his love and placed a servo on his shoulder. The other looked at him with those same wide optics.

"H-Hound? You don't hate me?"

"What? No!"

"But I, but I...but Phantom..." The poor mech was so confused. In his own glitched state, he was anxious and insecure, unlike Sly who became anxious and violent in his terror – it seemed that both of them were prone to panic attacks when things went downhill. If the glitching got too bad for Night, though, the personalities would start rapidly changing.

Inside the shared helm, Phantom paced, torn between fighting for control to take his family to what he deemed safety and helping his terribly confused brother. He felt horrible for the state he'd brought Nightshade to. This was practically his twin! And Hound hadn't really done anything wrong...

"Hey Shaders, calm down a bit." His other personality just continued twitching and muttering confusedly at Hound in the physical world, not at all noticing his alternate's mental attempts to calm him.

In desperation, Phantom took a look into Crash's mind, hoping to find something that could draw Shaders from his stupor. The mech glanced through the medic's recent thoughts, and froze at the ones he found related to his alternate and himself.

"What the... We're...what?" He tried to block his shock from his alternate, but was too late. Apparently Nightshade had decided to try listening to him just at that moment. He always did have crap timing.

Outside, the Autobots watched as all movement and speech from the black mech stalled. With careful optics the tall Cybertronian looked directly at Ratchet.

"Is it true?" he asked.

Ratchet, confused at the sudden change of mind and not for the first time that day fearing for one of the gestalt's health, was cautious about his answer. "Is what true?"

"Are we...are we really reversed?" The medic stared in confusion; Nightshade tried again. "Phantom and I...are we really not...what we thought we were? Is Phantom really the..._original personality?_"

Gasps sounded all around, but Night didn't notice; he could only stare at the medic, silently demanding an answer.

"I believe so," Ratchet said as earnestly as he could. His optics showed his belief in the truth of those words.

Nightshade began to keen loudly. "Aw, shit!" Crash said, reaching to catch the large gestalt leader who all but fell in on himself. Between Blitz and himself they were able to support the heavy weight of their oldest brother, whose optics offlined before he even landed in their arms. It didn't really help that Blitz was in no condition to be supporting his own weight, let alone another's.

"He's out, B-litz. Help me get 'im up on a berth. We ain't goin' nowhere, not now, at least." Crash turned to the human on his shoulder. "Miles, I don't think I'm gonna be able to take ya home today, bud. I'd recommend gettin' a ride with Sammy and the yellow midget, as much as I hate to admit that one."

"We could just tell his parents that he's staying over at my place," Sam said from Bee's shoulder. "I mean, my parents won't mind. They know about the 'Bots and all, and they let me stay in here all the time. There _are_ quarters for humans here, you know." He added the last line at the raised optic ridges he received from the three online gestalt members, though of course nobody could see Blitz's, even though Crash's mask was easier to see through than his own had been.

Crash was the first of the three to speak. "If that's what you want." He directed his speech at his human charge, who shrugged.

"As long as I can get to school on time tomorrow," he said. "My parents would kill me if I didn't show up. Speaking of which, what are you guys gonna do? You _are_ enrolled at our school now."

Crash thought it over and shared looks with his online brothers. "Hmm, never really thought 'bout it. Eh, jus' tell 'em that we're all sick an' crap like that. Some o' us might go back there, eventually."

Miles slanted his recently appointed guardian a look. "You do know that if you don't show up tomorrow, Trent will tell everyone it's because you're afraid of him."

"Remind me to kick Trent's ass next time I see 'im," muttered Crash. Ironhide snorted at that, despite the reprimanding look from his bondmate.

"Um, excuse me? Did you all forget that your leader is _unconscious_?" Hound was terrified for his love, or loves, rather. He'd been hurt by Phantom's paranoia and distrust, but it was even worse when he had been unable to comfort Nightshade in his anxiety. Now both were offline and Primus only knew what they were thinking of the newest occurrences.

* * *

Deep in the recesses of their shared mind, Nightshade and Phantom paced, or rather, Van paced while Night sat on the floor with his knees drawn to his chest. Phantom mentally poked and prodded his alternate, each time only receiving shivers and twitches in reply. He exhaled loudly.

"I don't know why you're so upset over this. It doesn't change anything."

Nightshade's helm snapped to better view their decided mental form of his alternate. "What do you mean, it doesn't change anything? This changes everything! All of this time, I've been the one making you glitched. It's all my fault! If I wasn't here, then you would have been a normal mech with a normal life and you would never have been taken by MICS. I ruined your life!"

The personality with violet optics stared at his brother. "Are you kidding me? Did you pay attention _at all_ to what Hatchet told Crash? I apparently created you because I _could not function in normal society_. Does that sound like a mentally healthy sparkling to you? I was an infant and I already couldn't handle socializing. I was probably already glitched, anyway. Look at my whole no-fear thing. That's all me, bro. You had nothing to do with that. So I'm glitched without you, anyways.

"Besides, look at me. Do I look like I care about which one of us was the original personality? The answer is Pit no! I hate almost all people, you know that. Without you, I would never have made it this far without accidentally killing someone to shut them up! You probably saved me! And if I hadn't 'made' you, we would have never met our brothers! You can't honestly tell me that you regret being in the gestalt."

'Shade stared at his brother, deep in thought. Given that the two shared a processor, his thoughts bounced around them both, making them easily known to Phantom. Nightshade could tell all of Phantom's thoughts as well, but they liked the process of actually speaking out their thoughts to each other. It had more of a sense of normalcy, something that their lives had always severely lacked in.

"But...but I messed you up..."

Phantom knelt in front of his literal other half, his apparent secondary personality. "Shaders. Shaders, look at me. Do I look like I'm messed up? Don't answer that. What I mean is, do I look like I have some deep underlying wish to be all by myself? Do you think I could ever live like that, all alone without four other people bouncing around my CPU? That's a 'no.' I couldn't stand being left all alone. I would probably cause havoc and mayhem and injure a bunch of people and blow some crap up and such before getting myself killed. I _need _to have you there to tell me I'm being a paranoid, overprotective, possessive slagger. I _need _you to tell me that I'm being a dumbaft, to keep me from attacking idiots like the yellow runt or offending everybody or mauling 'Cons too much. I can't imagine living without you in my head."

"That's just 'cause you can't remember me not being there."

"Yep, which shows that I never knew what it was like to be alone in my processor. I'd never last without you!"

Energon filled sky blue optics looked up at their violet-red counterparts. "You mean it?"

"No, I'm lying. Of course I mean it, you insecure fragger! Now give me a hug before I deny ever uttering those words."

Nightshade laughed, a soft but happy sound. He grabbed his alternate personality into the arms of his mental-self and squeezed him as hard as he could. He said, "How can a mech who was diagnosed to be unable to properly socialize have such a way with words, hmmm? I think maybe there's more to you than meets the optic."

Phantom chuckled. "Eh, you know what the human government said in their 'top secret' files of the whole Mission City thing: 'When it comes to these alien robots, they are certainly more than meets the eye.'"

* * *

Crash chuckled at the thoughts flowing from his older brothers. "Hound, those two are fine. They're workin' through their issues, m'kay? Trust me, it's healthier than one of 'em havin' a breakdown an' needin' to be sedated." The green Jeep still watched Phantom and Nightshade's body carefully. "They'll wake up when they need to, when they're ready. Give 'em their time. It's not yer fault, if that's what yer worried 'bout. They still love ya."

Hound's faceplates lit up, and Crash's maskless face showed his huge responding grin that twisted his scar in a fashion that was almost a little macabre. Blitz stared at the field medic with a raised optic ridge that Crash sensed and guessed was there more than saw.

"What?" the medic asked. "Can't I be happy too?" His reply was a weary helm-shake. He scowled at the jet, but kept smiling, especially at the extremely confused looks of the Decepticon trine.

Ratchet scowled too, only at the readings his scanner was giving him as he tried to scan the gestalt leader's prone form. He smacked it a few times as he had seen humans do to their technology when they were frustrated with it, though he knew it wouldn't help anything. Still, Ironhide had been right when he told his mate that it made one feel better.

"Stupid scanner," he muttered. Optimus and Ironhide looked at him questioningly. He explained, "I was scanning for Nightshade's energon levels, but I keep getting strange readings. It says that I should check the patient for signs of life. That obviously means that the patient has to have extremely, dangerously low levels of energon, and he wouldn't be able to function at such a low level."

It was not lost on Ratchet that the gestalt shared uncomfortable looks. "What do you know?" His optics were narrowed to mere slits.

Usually Crash would have responded, but he was too busy scuffing his pede against the floor while rocking back and forth, trying not to drop Miles in the process. He kept his unmasked faceplates turned away from the Autobots while he worried his lower lip between his dental plates.

Slysight stepped forward, as Blitz obviously wasn't about to speak. He had visibly calmed down after his latest glitch-fest, but he still shifted uneasily when everyone's optics fell on him. "We have an, er, thing about low energon levels in the gestalt. If one of us has high enough levels, we can keep the others online, even if the others are running on empty. We've been eating human food through our holoforms as sustenance for a long time and using gasoline and oil, but it's still no proper replacement for energon, I'm sure you've realized. Well, one of us has a, um, thing that makes it necessary for them to have at least a certain amount of energon in their systems at all times or they'll go into stasis lock and possibly die, and, uh, we kind of had to help them with their situation so they don't, uh, die, which involved some energon transfusions and... Ummm..."

Ratchet felt a mixture of fear and anger wash over him. Being himself, he chose to channel the anger.

"You are not seriously telling me that one of you has one of the most dangerous degenerative fuel disorders ever discovered and you _didn't even bother to tell me_?" Blitz was probably the only one in the room who didn't flinch at the tone, and that was because he was trying to recharge on his pedes again, and settled for sitting on the side of Nightshade's berth so he didn't fall on his face and break Crash's visor.

Slysight flinched. "Yes." A meeker tone had never been used by anyone.

Ratchet all but growled loudly. Bumblebee contemplated removing Miles and his charge from the room for safety matters. Then again, the twins and the Dinobots were outside, meaning it probably wasn't all that safe...

"Who?" he demanded. Considering the way Slysight had been talking, it wasn't the Ops mech and it wasn't Nightshade and Phantom, because they had one of the lower energon levels. So that left Blitz and Crash. Ratchet immediately glared at the former, who was practically a king of health problems, mentally and physically.

Blitz stared back at the CMO from his place on the side of Nightshade's berth. Why did everyone automatically assume that when someone hid a problem, it had to be him? Primus, blame it on the pseudo-mute, as always. He huffed loudly through his vents and shook his head pronouncedly.

It was not lost on the young Seeker that his creators looked vastly relieved as they not-so-subtly crept closer to him until they were standing once again in a protective circle around him, Skywarp sitting next to him on the berth and allowing the youngling to rest his weight on him. It was also not lost on Blitz that Jazz's frame tensed up at the implications of Blitz's slow helm shake. He poked Crash's mind to see why that may have been...

...Well, wasn't _that_ interesting. He certainly hadn't seen that one coming, not at all. What was with all of the family reunions lately, hmm? It was weird, and frankly Blitz wanted to tell Primus to cut it out, because he was starting to get annoyed with the Hallmark-ness of it all. They were like a freaky scene from a bad soap opera – nix that, a scene from _any_ soap opera. One that Crash would doubtlessly title "The Rogues." Even after thousands of years, he hadn't yet given up on trying to get his cheesy gestalt name to catch on. It wasn't working.

He realized that he was drifting off in his own thoughts again when surely one of his brothers could use his support. Wearily, he pulled his mind from its off-tangent ventures and forced himself to focus on the situation at hand.

"Crash?" Ratchet spoke in a tone that could possibly have been called soft or tender had it belonged to any other Cybertronian, but this was Ratchet – the words "soft" and "tender" weren't even in his vocabulary, and you wouldn't find a picture of him in the dictionary next to the word "cuddly." Well, maybe if you were Ironhide, but Blitz really didn't want to think about what old bonded mechs did in their spare time, because that was just gross, and now his CPU couldn't help but try to conjure an image of it for him...

Crash, who had been supremely terrified of the impending doom of his situation, was suddenly ever so thankful for his Seeker brother and his wayward thought patterns. He couldn't help but laugh loudly and candidly at Blitz's train of thought about Hatchet and ol' Ironaft gettin' it on. This probably confused everyone around him, but he didn't care; he had a habit of leaving bemused people in his wake, and he didn't plan on stopping anytime soon. He had a reputation to uphold!

"What," Ratchet began in a definitely less cuddly, as Blitz would have thought it, tone. "Is so funny? Did I make a joke or say something amusing, because I don't believe I did."

The field medic only shook his helm, cackling the whole time. He was still nervous about the confrontation he knew was coming, but he wasn't as afraid as he had been.

"Nothin'. Sorry, Ratchet." The CMO was slightly taken aback, as his real name was almost never used unless Crash was serious about something, or didn't trust him, and the trust issue had already been worked out.

"It is you, isn't it?" The thing was, he already knew the answer, but he still couldn't bring himself to believe it. Not Crash, not bright, bubbly, ever-laughing Crash. They had just gotten him back!

And Jazz, what would Jazz do? The saboteur had just been able to start kindling some form of a familial relationship with his youngling, and then _this_ came along? And Prowl hadn't even reached Earth yet! It was like Primus had it out for the small family who was so full of turmoil. They had enough on their plates, what with their separation from Crash and each other, not to mention Prowl's problem with his older brother Barricade being a particularly brutal Decepticon. The last thing they needed was _this_.

Solemnly, Crash nodded. "It's nothin' really. 'S not that bad. A few transfusions 'cause we were outta energon, that's all. Nothin' major. No matter what Sly said, 'M not dyin', Ratch. Promise ya, 'M not. 'M gonna be jus' fine, like always."

Ratchet deeply admired the youngling's positive attitude on the whole thing. He was shocked that something like this could have been hidden from him for so long. His answer came when Crash reached into a seam above his spark chamber and removed a small, disk-like device and hit a button on it, after which the CMO's scanners went wild. An image blocker, a device that adjusted one's readings on a scan to the requested outcome. No doubt it was made custom for him by his deceased inventor friend.

"What's he talkin' 'bout?" Jazz was frantic with worry by this point. Dying? What did they mean, dying? And Slysight had mentioned dying multiple times. His sparkling wasn't dying, he wasn't – he couldn't be!

This was one of the moments that Ratchet absolutely deplored more than anything else, the one where he had to explain to a sick mech's distraught family and friends that their loved one could possibly be living on borrowed time.

"What Crash has is a degenerative disorder with a name so long and large that even I have problems remembering it, let alone pronouncing it. Most just call it Rapid Energon Processing Syndrome, or REPS. It is a syndrome that begins mildly enough: a mech or femme needs to keep their fuel levels above a certain amount to keep themselves from falling into stasis lock. This level starts out near that of a normal Cybertronian, but as things progress the level is raised higher and higher until the body degenerates so much that almost constant energon intake is necessary for survival. It's similar to what humans call a high metabolism, but in a deadly form. The body begins to process energon more quickly, and needs more to stay online, thus raising the necessary intake level.

"Very few mechs and femmes are afflicted with it, and no pattern was ever found to it – it's not hereditary or secluded to a single model. Tests and experiments were done on Cybertron, mostly by companies hoping to harness the 'high metabolism,' as humans would call it, so a substance would be made that could be sold to those with 'low metabolisms.' Most research on it was inconclusive or flawed."

"What are you saying?" Jazz asked carefully, terrified and full of horrification.

"You all need to understand, this syndrome is degenerative; it does more often than not result in the patient's death. It has in all previously recorded cases."

"Meaning?" Jazz knew the answer, but couldn't admit it to himself.

"The syndrome has a hundred percent mortality rate."

* * *

**Mmm, I just love me some angst in the evenin'; don't you? ;) I don't know where this idea came from, just something about Crash with a fatal ailment and then it escalated. It's crazy and maybe a little stupid, I know. If you feel we're getting too much away from Blitz, tell me and I'll drag this sucker back on track for you. I'm already planning on doing a bit of that next chapter. And yes, I really did feel that the "more than meets the eye" thing was needed, even though it's one of those "Hey look, real life TF reference!" things that I hate, like when people insert Linkin Park's "What I've Done" or "New Divide," usually when they're the only songs they know by the band. I hate people like that. Sorry, just felt the need to say that.**

**By the way, Crash's mental use of the term "gettin' it on" is a kind of small reference to my fic "Jazz's Boys" where it is featured predominantly and is a sort of story element, almost.**

**Please review!**


	17. Diamond Eyes

**Sorry this took so long, I started a story I intended to be short, and it went on a lot longer than intended. But it's done now, and I'm back!**

**This chapter is kind of short, but I have a reason. It ends in a place where I would pick up with a flashback, and I feel that the flashback will probably be long enough to be a chapter in itself. So, I will start working on it right away, and I swear that the next thing I post will be that flashback. So, don't get upset that the short, abruptly ending chapter, as I shall soon post more to the story.**

_**ToaKage**_**: And I blatantly ignore that part in this chapter! Haha, oh, you'll be mad, I'm sure. Sorry I took so long to update! And thank you not only for the review, but the compliment – but here's some more Blitz lovin' anyway!**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Transformers or any of its characters; I do own the gestalt and anyone/thing you don't know. The lyrics to "Diamond Eyes (Boom-Lay Boom-Lay Boom)" belong to Shinedown – yes, for those of you who read ****Nobody's Victim****, I am on a Shinedown kick, as they are my second-favorite band and I'm obsessed with them. But this song works well for Crash's predicament.**

* * *

"_**I'm on the front line, don't worry I'll be fine  
The story is just beginning  
I say goodbye to my weakness,  
So long to the regret  
And now I know that I'm alive"**_

_~ "Diamond Eyes (Boom-Lay Boom-Lay Boom)" - Shinedown_

"I'm not dyin'," Crash said like a petulant sparkling, crossing his arms and glaring at everyone in the room, which only consisted of Ratchet, Jazz, Prime and himself since Ratchet had kicked everyone else out of the medbay. The Seekers and Blitz were given a small unused room near the medbay so they could continue their reunion, and Hound was allowed to stay with Nightshade while Slysight was to "socialize" with the others on base. "Stop makin' it sound like I am. Fraggit, until I make a soap opera about our lives we are not gonna talk 'bout anyone's fatal ailments!"

"Excuse me?" Ratchet took an intimidating step toward the youngling. "First, watch your slagging language, and second, who else has a fatal ailment?"

"Nobody! Primus, yer all so paranoid, yer makin' Sly look bad. No, better yet, yer makin' _Red Alert_ look like the epitome o' calm."

"Calm down, you drama femme," Ratchet chastised, earning a glare from the still-visorless field medic.

"Oh, that's rich, _I'm_ the dramatic one? Yer the mechs who keep makin' such a fuss outta nothin'. I'm not dyin', nobody's dyin', so I don't see what the big deal is."

Ratchet shook his helm, still grumbling. "I admire your optimism."

"It ain't optimism, Ratch. I ain't dyin', and that's that. I've been fine all o' these vorns without y'all fussin' over me, an' I'll be fine for a long time to come."

The CMO looked up at him with weary blue optics. "And after that?"

Crash shook his helm softly with a weak, grim smile. "Well, we'll get to that when we get to it."

* * *

Blitz once again found himself alone in a room with his newfound creators. Now that the shock and awe was wearing off, he found his logic returning to him. And it was not happy. It was, for once, actually making him care about a situation.

Huh. Weird.

Honestly, what had he expected to happen? Here he was with, yes, his true creators, but what were they going to do? His creators were Decepticons, and mighty proud of it. Blitz had been made aware that Starscream was now the leader of the Decepticons after whatever happened in Mission City (which apparently had ended with Megatron's death. Who would've thought it?). But even with one of his creators being the new Decepticon ruler, there wasn't exactly a high chance of Starscream, of all mechs, deciding to agree to a truce to end the war. And that wasn't even mentioning the fact that some of the Decepticons might refuse to follow Starscream.

Really, it was all a crapshoot. He was an Autobot, and his gestalt were Autobots, and even if he wanted to leave the faction – which he didn't – there was no chance of his gestalt becoming Decepticons, and because he would never leave them, the idea of him joining his creators was immediately discarded from his CPU.

But the Elite trine wouldn't dream of leaving their faction, probably not even for their own creation. Primus, why should they? They didn't know him. He definitely wasn't that cute little sparkling they'd put on a shuttle to Praxus. So what would make them stay?

Nothing. This was a stupid idea in the first place. Why bother getting to know someone when you were going to go into battle against them anyway? It was pointless, and would hurt more than help. Blitz knew it was going to hurt like the Pit to face the mechs he knew to be his creators in battle, and Primus knew he didn't like caring so much that it hurt. So maybe he should just end this all now, to better numb himself for the pain that would surely follow.

Starscream watched his silent sparkling. Well, not really a sparkling now but a young adult, a fighter. A soldier. He studied the appearance of the Seeker that was his own creation. It had to be admitted that Blitz had changed since he was a sparkling, in more ways than one.

He had obviously inherited Starscream's short stature and lithe form; with a grin the now-bronze jet wondered if his creation had his speed as well. The blue lines covering his black chassis were an unexpected addition – most mechs never changed their color scheme from their appearance as a youngling, or if they did, it wasn't too much. The mask, and now the borrowed visor, was a change used to cover another alteration in their creation's appearance, the origins of which the trine was just _dying_ to know.

Blitz appeared to be in deep thought, as he stared at a wall opposite the berth he was sitting cross-legged on. The visor obscured most of his facial features, but Starscream could just make out two differently colored optics narrowed in contemplation. He smirked; another thing that he must have inherited from Starscream. His choice of posture and position, cross-legged and hunched over with his elbows on his knee joints, that was all Skywarp, and the way he cocked his helm in thought was a trait found in Thundercracker. It seemed he had gained a little something from each of his creators.

The young Seeker in question had just been contemplating leaving, for his sake and that of his creators, when he was pulled once again up against someone's side. At first he had expected it would be Skywarp, so it was to his shock that he found Thundercracker to be the one nuzzling the top of his helm. It was odd, that he had never learned how tactile his own...race was.

Skywarp nestled against his other side, and it seemed that once again, he wasn't going anywhere. But Blitz, a mech who had lived his life in silence for as long as he could remember, was starting to find this silence to be unbearable. Luckily for him, Starscream picked up on his discomfort.

"Would you mind telling us more about yourself?"

Well, that seemed like an innocent enough question. Blitz looked around for the datapad he had been speaking through earlier, only to find that it must have been left in the medbay. He made to extract himself from the other jets' hold, and was pulled back.

"Nope," Skywarp murmured. "Not going anywhere. Just use the bond."

Blitz's helm canted further to the side, this time in confusion. He watched the elder Seekers as they watched him, each with a large amount of eagerness in their optics.

Explained Starscream, "You _are_ our creation, Blitz. That does mean that you have a bond with us, no matter how weak it would be from disuse." Blitz shook his helm slightly. "It's an urban myth that unused bonds 'shrivel up' and disappear. The bond is still there – you just need to find it."

This was really, _really_ going against the Autobot Seeker's plan to slowly disassociate himself from his creators. The thing was, he didn't even _want_ to draw away from them, but it seemed like it would be the logical decision, the right one.

Aw, slaggit. He was never one for the most logical plan, anyway. And, to his delight, he didn't _care_ about that. Yes, the (sometimes) uncaring sociopath was back, and now he was going to have a sappy family moment.

Wow. That just killed his image.

With half-sparked effort he poked at the area of his spark where his bonds were held. He was quite accustomed to using this area, considering it was what his gestalt bond was based from, but he wasn't looking to that bond at the moment. No, he was trying to find an older, long unused bond that may or may not have still existed, despite what Starscream had said.

Thinking that the whole thing was useless, per usual, Blitz didn't try too hard to find the bond, so he was fairly surprised when he stumbled across it. It was as if the family bond had been covered with cobwebs – which was preposterous because Cybertronians had nothing of the sort, given that Cybertron was not organic; the only kind of "dust" they had wasn't organically based at all – but the bond remained where it had always been. Where it had been forgotten.

It was with much trepidation and a fear of rejection that he refused to acknowledge that Blitz pushed at the bond, awaiting some form of pain to arise, whether from the sudden onslaught of emotions from a "new" bond or from the simple disuse of the link. He felt no pain, though, no form of discontent. By pushing at the bond, he sent a slight tremor through it, which was more than enough incentive for his creators to push back, digging their way through the bond until it was clear of the non-existent mass that had obstructed it.

The bond came into focus gradually, like a heavy fog was suddenly lifting. First it was a gentle hum, a vibration not unlike that of the gestalt bond when it wasn't being focused on. Slowly the hum became louder and clearer and soon gave way to muddled thoughts and tones, which in turn morphed into actual, discernable streams of consciousness instead of just a jumble of words and half-felt emotions.

There were definitely three distinct sections of the bond, one to each of the trine, and those three sections were each connected to the other through their own bond. But right now, all three sections were sending a lot of, well, _fluffy_ emotions down the bond, and slag it if Blitz didn't immediately clam up per usual. He tensed in their hold, both physical and mental, as he tried to ease into the sensation of having yet _more _people in his helm who were sending him emotions from the, er, lighter side of things and, in turn, evoking the same emotions from Blitz, however unconsciously and not-by-choice the responding emotions were.

The trine glanced at each other as they felt their creation's inner turmoil. They knew that assimilating to a new or seemingly new bond would be hard on him, but they were more than willing to wait for Blitz to come to terms with things on his own. All they wanted was for him to let them in, to allow them to be his creators again.

Seriously, hundreds of thousands of vorns of pent-up unused creator emotions and protocols led to quite an interesting, overprotective and maybe over-affectionate trine.

Skywarp was quite eager to try out their bond with their sparkling; more specifically, to utilize it so they could actually speak with him. Stroking the back of the younger Seeker's helm, he tried talking to him across the bond.

_Hey, sweetspark,_ he called softly. Blitz jolted and tensed instantly, but calmed as he slowly recognized the voice to be Skywarp's. Voices always sounded the same in a bond as they did in real life, unless something (usually an injury) had affected the voice – then it would remain over the bond to sound like it had originally.

Frankly, he was terrified of speaking to them. Yes, Blitz had no problem talking to his brothers over their bond, but he was used to that. He hadn't spoken, in any way, to someone else in, well, his entire life since _that_...

Blitz wasn't aware that he was broadcasting all of this across his newly activated bond.

_What happened?_ asked Thundercracker quietly, as his engine purred soothingly. Following his lead, Starscream and Skywarp began to do the same, trying to calm their suddenly skittish and anxious youngling.

It took Blitz a few tries to speak across the bond, mainly because he just wasn't used to it. At least, that's what he told himself while telling his logical side to mute it when it ever so kindly informed him that he was constantly talking with his gestalt over their bond.

_I...I'd really rather not say._

His voice was a bit of a surprise for the trine. He almost sounded like Starscream! They hadn't expected him to inherit Starscream's vocal glitch, but considering vocal glitches became more apparent with age and they had last seen Blitz when he was barely saying a word at all, it wasn't like they could have guessed about the glitch earlier.

Thundercracker gave Blitz a soft, encouraging grin, sending feelings along the bond to back up the expression.

_It's okay. You don't have to tell us if you don't want to._

But that was just it. Blitz found that he _did_ want to. More and more lately, ever since finding the Autobots again, he had been discovering this newfound wish to speak. It wasn't that he sat down and thought, "Hey, speech might be nice." No, it was more of a few small urges.

He would be listening to his brothers chat, and have the urge to add in something verbally. Or, someone would make a joke, and he wanted to laugh. Even when he was being brutally attacked by the twins (and Primus, was that going to be a fun reunion when he saw them next) he had wanted to make a sound, though one of pain. But the main thing was, he had felt a compulsion to make a sound. To speak.

Blitz couldn't speak, though. His reason wasn't at all logical, and he knew it and hated it, but he wasn't a glitch for nothing. The rest of his "psychoses" may have just been smaller things that barely appeared or bothered him, or in some cases were solely speculations of ailments that really didn't exist in the young Seeker, but his one definite glitch was something only his brothers were aware of: his deep, undying, irrational fear of speech. Granted, they knew what had spawned it and they understood why he had been fearful once upon a time, but after his continued refusal to speak, it could definitely be said that this was a glitch of some sort.

This, too, was broadcasted to the trine, but this time, Blitz was aware of it and found that he didn't care – hey, at least that was normal for him.

For once, he wanted someone to know. He wanted to tell someone why he was so irrationally petrified by the thought of talking.

_You can tell us_, Starscream encouraged him. The trine leader scooted closer on the berth so he was behind Blitz, sheltering his newly rebuilt and terribly sensitive and pained wings in a comforting gesture. Blitz, though he barely remembered a thing of Seeker culture due to the fall of Vos and his long absence from his own kind, unconsciously was soothed by the posture his creator had taken behind him.

He thought long and hard about what he was going to do. He was going to speak...? Yes, he was going to speak.

_:: Get on with it already! ::_

Blitz jolted at the agitated call over his bond, mostly because this wasn't the bond he had been currently accessing. _:: Haven't you ever heard of privacy, Sly? Aren't you supposed to be _socializing_? ::_

The Seekers were bemused and amused by this newest turn of events. They had guessed that it would be possible to hear Blitz's "brothers" if both bonds were opened at the same time, but they hadn't expected this _introduction_ so soon. But they did find it sweet that with Blitz's rebuttal and his feeling of annoyance was a slight bit of affection aimed at Slysight, who they recalled to be the terribly paranoid mech.

_:: Blitz, tell your creators to stop thinking so loudly. And I am not that paranoid! I was attacked by my own faction, thank you very much, and there are three very dangerous enemies on the base and in the same room as my brother, might I add. I have the right to be paranoid. And don't you dare start preening at being called dangerous, you Pit-spawned fragtards! Ugh, I am so sick of all this vainglory. ::_

_:: I take it your socializing isn't going well? ::_

_:: What do you think, jerkwad? No, it is not going well at all. The twins keep trying to apologize and it's really pissing me off, because they won't stop following me around. And I was checking out this bases's security, and it is _terrible_! Red Alert would be so ashamed of this place, not to mention horrified by it. ::_

_:: Of course you would know this. :: _There was no missing the implications of Blitz's cheeky statement.

_:: Mute it, slag-eater. And you would not believe all the crap that apparently went down at this Mission City battle – the humans were filling me in. I'll tell you later, though, because I have to keep moving if I don't want those twins to find me again so they can keep it up with their incessant apologies, and you need to go play storyteller with your creators. So get the lead out of your aft! ::_

Before Blitz could respond, Slysight had taken his attention from the bond, effectively "signing off." He exhaled heavily through his vents in annoyance. It didn't escape him that his newfound creators were chuckling.

Starscream asked in a mirth-filled tone, _Is he always like that?_

_No, just when he's really annoyed. Then he channels his inner-me._

Skywarp was intrigued and excited by this. _So you always talk like an over-energized dockworker?_

Starscream shook his helm in disbelief before lightly cuffing Skywarp's helm. _That isn't a good thing, 'Warp._

_Maybe not in your optics..._

_And not in yours, either, _Thundercracker sent meaningfully. Skywarp just chuckled to himself.

_Sure, whatever makes you happy TC._

The trine's attention refocused on their youngling, who had been enjoying watching their interaction. So this was what it was like to have creators. It was...weird. Enjoyable and a little crazy, but then again, so was the rest of his life!

Their trine leader sent them both reprimanding looks before he redirected his attention back at his creation. _So...that little story of yours?_

_Oh, yeah. That._

_Yes, that,_ Thundercracker repeated. _Care to share?_

_You can tell us anything, _Skywarp added with a kind smile, seeming to pull himself closer still to Blitz's side.

Blitz remained silent for a long, pregnant moment before nodding his head. _I, uh...yeah. Yes, okay. It, uh... It all started, I guess, at the MICS facility._

_MICS? _Starscream sent him a sharp, confused look through narrowed optics. _What do they have to do with anything?_

_Oh...right, you don't know about all of that. Okay, well then we'll start with my time on the _Ark _after the fall of Praxus._

* * *

**Next up shall be a flashback that will explain a **_**lot**_** of things that you've all been wondering for a while. So stay tuned and review!**


	18. Pictures of You

**I love flashbacks; don't you? Next chapter will be a continuation of it, as it would be a seriously long affair if I put it all in one chapter.**

_**ToaKage**_**: Fluff and sarcasm – two things I can write, among things I can't. ;) I thought the trine was getting too fluffy; I'm relieved you liked it! I could never imagine abandoning this story – I love it to pieces, no matter how long it takes for me to post. And I promise to do my best to never take that long to post again! Thank you so much for always reviewing! I don't know how you do it, without receiving alerts. I salute you!**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Transformers or any of its characters; I do own the gestalt and anyone/thing you don't know. The lyrics to "Pictures of You" belong to The Last Goodnight.**

* * *

"_**This is the clock upon the wall  
This is the story of us all  
This is the first sound of a newborn child,  
Before he starts to crawl  
This is the war that's never won  
This is a soldier and his gun  
This is the mother waiting by the phone,  
Praying for her son**_

**_Pictures of you, pictures of me_**  
**_Hung upon your wall for the world to see_**  
**_Pictures of you, pictures of me_**  
**_Remind us all of what we used to be"_**

_~ "Pictures of You" – The Last Goodnight_

Wheeljack onlined to a soft, whimpering sound. He sighed, knowing immediately what it was. Slowly he pulled himself into a standing position next to his berth, checking his internal chronometer as he did; it was extremely late in the orn, when all but a skeleton crew was off-shift and in recharge.

Making his way to the small, crib-like berth set near his own, he peered inside. Large, seemingly oversized green optics stared into his, small tears of cleaning fluid pooling at the edges and glittering in the soft light the optics gave off – the inventor had yet to turn on a light. The mechlet in the berth whined imploringly as it stared up at its caretaker. With a tired ventilation, Wheeljack reached down and scooped up the sparkling.

"What's wrong, Blitz?" he asked the seekerlet. Blitz didn't speak much, like most sparklings his age, but he did know a few words, some of which being a little too "choice" for Wheeljack's liking, and that was all due to a few Autobots who couldn't hold their glossas around sparklings, mainly speaking of Ironhide.

The sparkling clicked and whirled as he pressed his helm firmly against Wheeljack's chest plating, sniffling all the while.

Wheeljack gave him a look and smiled cheerfully, a method that often helped to calm Blitz down. It may have lost him a lot of recharge, but Wheeljack loved being a caretaker.

"You know," he said conversationally. "I think someone had a nightmare."

Blitz's helm flew up so his optics could meet Wheeljack's. The inventor continued on.

"Yes, someone had a nightmare, I think, but I'm not sure who it was. I can't see anyone in the room."

The sparkling was now clicking softly, trying to gain the inventor's attention.

"Nope, I can't see anybody. And here I could've sworn that there was somebody else here."

Blitz, in his desperation to regain his caretaker's attention and prove his own presence, chirruped quite loudly and smacked a miniscule servo against the inventor's plating.

Wheeljack finally turned his helm to the sparkling. "Oh, there you are! And I did all that searching for nothing."

The seekerlet was quite proud of himself now; after all, Seekers did love having all attention on them. Wheeljack smiled in success. Once more, his method had worked. Blitz had been so wrapped up in getting his attention that his night terror had slipped his processors.

This wasn't the first time this had happened. Often Blitz would wake up, shivering and keening due to some bad memory purge or another, but usually it seemed to be of two things – the attack on Praxus, and the orn that his creators had sent him away.

Nobody would have known this if it hadn't been for Red Alert's younger brother Sunstreaker.

One orn the four younglings of the ship had been playing in the rec room. Sunstreaker had a penchant for drawing, and had been doing so on a datapad. Soon his brother and the younger two mechlets had wanted to join in as well, and grudgingly, Sunstreaker allowed them.

Each of the younglings had been working away at their own datapads when Jazz wandered into the room on break to visit them and grab a cube of energon. He first stopped and chatted amiably with Blaster, who had been looking after the four, before he approached the small, youngling-sized table that the group was situated at.

Kneeling in front of the group, he asked, "So, what're we all doin' here?"

"Drawing," Sunstreaker answered briskly, glossa peeping out the side of his mouth as he concentrated on coloring inside the outlined picture he had drawn.

Jazz only smiled and looked at each of the youngling's drawings. By far, Sunstreaker's was the best, though that was expected. It was a skyline view of Iacon, which he had even attempted to give a three-dimensional look to. While it was obviously juvenile, it still held a lot of promise.

Sideswipe's drawing was what could be called a family portrait if you had a lot of imagination. There was a red object, a yellow object, and a bigger red and white object. This was about the limit of Sideswipe's artistic talent, but he seemed happy with it, and that was all that mattered.

Next Jazz leaned over Bluestreak's shoulder, planting a sloppy kiss to the top of his adopted sparkling's helm as he did so, eliciting a delighted giggle. His drawing, too, was a family portrait, and was about on par with Sideswipe's, despite the slight age difference between the two. Jazz wondered which of the black and white blobs was himself until Blue added a red scribble to one's helm, and a blue smear to the other's. Ah, that cleared things up.

He praised his sparkling's work, bringing out a beatific grin, and moved onto Blitz. As the youngest of the group, he was the least developed in all aspects. He was the smallest, the one who was fairly unstable on his pedes, the most delicate, and the quietest. Bluestreak was close in age by a few vorns, but was quite talkative, even if sometimes his "talk" was just a bunch of incoherent babble. Blitz still communicated through clicks and the like, which Ratchet said was fitting of his estimated age, though they were to encourage any attempt on his part at real speech.

It was a little surprising that the twins had taken so well to the two younger additions to the _Ark_. At first it had been wondered if they would reject the sparklings because they were "too young," but the twins had taken their presence in stride, probably because they enjoyed having such devoted followers.

There wasn't a large distance in the youngling's ages, but they were at those stages in one's life cycle when a few vorns' difference showed: the twins were well developed, long passed being unsteady in any aspect of life, and spoke in full, coherent sentences. Bluestreak's babble was a fast-paced mix of pure gibberish and real words, with a clear discernable statement usually coming through, and he was stable on his pedes until he tried to run. Blitz had to carefully place his steps and could not move too quickly, and would occasionally shout out a word he recalled, usually not a very good one after being around Ironhide for too long.

It was due to this difference in development that Jazz had expected to see a large scribble on Blitz's datapad, of a mess of colors. That wasn't what he saw.

True, it was a bunch of blobs, but there was a definite image that the seekerlet was trying to form. There was a blob of black and purple, a blob of bright blue with black and white smudges, and a recognizable red, white, and blue blob. To the side of this group was a large grey mass with a hastily drawn figure in front of it. In the figure's hold was a small black thing that appeared to be reaching out to the three blobs.

Jazz froze; he knew what this scene had to be.

Carefully he waited for the sparkling to "finish" his picture, adding a few last color smears. When he was done, Blitz stared at the picture and gave a longing whir before he looked up and smiled at Jazz, shoving the drawing at him to show him what great work he had done.

"Yeah," Jazz murmured, petting the seekerlet's helm and gaining a contented purr. "Ya did good, sweetspark."

Jazz took the drawing with him and showed it to Prowl, who said he should show it to Prime and Wheeljack, and in turn Ratchet as well.

"He obviously remembers them," Optimus Prime said solemnly.

"You know, I think this might be one of those things he has night terrors about," mused Wheeljack, staring at the picture and softly tracing a digit across it. "He'll online all upset, but it's not about the Praxus attack."

Ratchet nodded his helm slightly. "It's true that he could be missing his real creators. But aside from handing him over to the Decepticons, there's nothing we can do."

And so the conversation ended. Blitz still awoke from bad memory purges often, though now they at least knew the subjects of them.

The sparkling in question chirped at Wheeljack, wanting his attention as he had stopped stroking the small nubs on his back that would one orn be wings.

"Feeling better?" he whispered to Blitz; the seekerlet's mouth opened as it yawned widely before resting its helm against the inventor's chassis.

"Yeah," Wheeljack murmured, still holding on to his charge. "You're okay."

* * *

_A few vorns later_

Blitz toddled down the corridor in the direction he thought his friends had gone in. So far he had only fallen down twice, so he was quite proud of himself. But one of the times he fell down, he had lost sight of his friends. Blue could keep up with the twins' longer strides if he hurried, and while they didn't mean to leave Blitz behind, in their excitement they often forgot that it took him longer to catch up.

It wasn't long before the seekerlet had effectively gotten himself lost. He didn't at all recognize where he was, and he didn't see any mechs around, let alone ones that he knew. Being a naturally timid mech, at least at the time, he wouldn't normally approach some mechs that he _did_ know, let alone a stranger. But before he could be wary of someone new, he had to _find_ someone.

With a little bit of anxiety, Blitz wandered down a random pathway where the twins and Bluestreak might have gone.

He was starting to get scared now. Everything was so _big_. The doorways were large, the ceilings were high, everything was humongous. A smaller-than-average seekerlet could get lost in a place like this forever, and nobody would ever find him, and he would never see 'Jack or creators again...

Full-blown panic struck him. Blitz moved as quickly as he could without falling, searching desperately for someone, _anyone_ who could help him. He broke into a run, which was really just a swift toddle, and continued on his search, checking down every hallway he passed and finding them empty. That was, until he ran into something which sent him on his rear.

The seekerlet paused in surprise, wondering how he had run into a wall, until he noticed that the "wall" was a lavender purple leg. Wide green optics followed this leg up to a matching torso and helm. The figure stared down at him with inquisitive blue optics, seeming to be pondering something.

"Who are you?" it murmured, bending down to get a better look at the sparkling. Blitz scuttled backwards.

This wasn't like any mech he had ever seen before. Its voice was higher than that of any mech he had seen before, and it was skinnier and smaller, too – which meant it was still much taller than the sparkling.

"It's alright," the adult said in a calming tone, reaching out a purple servo, palm up, to the sparkling. When the servo was kept in that same position for a while, Blitz carefully moved forward, examining the appendage with interest. One of the digits crooked upward, tickling the bottom of his chin, and the sparkling giggled.

The newcomer continued to examine the sparkling as she slowly petted its helm. She'd heard that there were sparklings on the _Ark_; that was why the femmes were here in the first place, to retrieve them. But now it seemed that some of the residents of the _Ark_ were putting up a fuss, claiming that the sparklings would be better off kept with them.

Skyflare really didn't care about the whole debacle taking place in the meeting room at that moment. No, she was more interested in the stray sparkling. It was obviously a seekerlet, and there were no Autobot Seekers. An orphan...

While she pet the sparkling's helm to draw away its attention, she ran an in-depth span on the seekerlet's CPU. It twittered and squirmed at the unexpected, unwelcomed sensation, but the femme's servo held him tightly. "Just a moment, now."

The scan finished with a small beep, and Skyflare eagerly viewed its results. She smiled.

"Perfect."

The sounds of little pedes drew her from her happy musings. Three younglings, one really just a sparkling, came careening around the corner.

"Blitz!" called a red youngling in a chastising tone. "There you are! We've been looking all over for you!" He came to a halt when he saw Skyflare's grip on the seekerlet, which she hastily removed; but she had already been caught.

The optics of the yellow and red younglings, who must have been the twins Skyflare had heard of, narrowed. Wordlessly, the yellow one came forward, snatched one of the seekerlet's servos, and briskly pulled him over to the other two. The grey sparkling watched all of this with confusion; he stared up at the femme with bemused optics.

"It's a femme, Blue," the red mechlet explained. A look of realization came across the Praxian youngling's faceplates.

The seekerlet, identified as Blitz, shivered as he watched the femme. He silently pressed his faceplates against the side of the yellow youngling, who at first looked affronted, but then glanced at the femme with an angry look.

"What's wrong?" he asked the sparkling softly. The seekerlet shook its helm and chirped a few times.

"Scary," it whimpered. The red mechlet smiled easily, not understanding Blitz's fear.

"It's just a femme, Blitzy. They're just like mechs with different frames. There's nothing to be afraid of."

The small black helm shook again, and Blitz whimpered pathetically.

The femme was silent, already putting a plan together. This would be easy, much easier than it was to get the mechlet with multiple personalities. That one had been wary and quick, making it hard to snatch, but a sparkling on the streets only could go so far before it tired. It was just too bad that it only had two personalities; they had suspected a third from the first description they had received, but that had been proved wrong. A shame, but they still had their subject in the end.

And now she was looking at a perfect candidate. An orphan who was to be sent with the femmes "for safety," which was just a phrase that translated into nobody caring for the sparkling. His CPU gave off odd readings, the kind of odd readings that only came from glitches. While there was no obvious glitch that was visible without an in-depth scan, there was a high potential of an underlying glitch. Skyflare could only be thankful that the Autobots wouldn't scan for mental glitches in sparklings unless they had good reason to, such as having viewed signs of a glitch.

She watched as the group of younglings slowly moved away, the grey sparkling chattering avidly while the yellow youngling shot angered, suspicious glances over his shoulder struts, gaining confused expressions from his red twin.

Skyflare shook her helm with a smug smirk. Oh, but this would be just _too easy_.

* * *

"The sparklings would be safer with the femmes than with us," Optimus explained as kindly as possible. Elita stood at his side, nodding in support and agreement.

"We have space enough to take them, and we aren't targeted by the Decepticons as often as the _Ark _is."

Red Alert shook his helm. A faint blue spark flitted between his sensory horns, setting the others on edge. "I don't know what kind of security you have," he murmured, continuing to shake his helm. "I can't keep them safe if I can't control the security, and I swore I would keep them safe."

"Swore to who?" Elita-One asked.

"My creators. I promised them I would keep the twins safe; I have to, no matter what."

The leader of the femmes released air from her vents loudly. "Well, we were sent to take orphans. We could allow your brothers to remain in your care – I would hate to break up one of the few remaining family units we have – but we should really take the orphans with us. A lot of the bonded civilians we've been protecting lost their creations in the Decepticon attacks, and would love to be able to look after a sparkling again, even if it didn't belong to them."

Jazz wasn't very happy with this idea. "But lil' Blue _is_ me an' Prowler's sparkling. I mean, we adopted him officially and everything."

Elita looked to Optimus, and he nodded in confirmation. "Alright," she conceded. "If it's official, then I guess he can remain with you. But if there is even one bad attack on the _Ark_, we'll need to remove all civilians – and that includes younglings and sparklings, even with familial connections. The other sparkling, he hasn't been adopted?"

Optimus shook his helm. "Wheeljack has taken on the role of the seekerlet's primary caretaker, but other mechs have been looking after Blitz as well."

"I could adopt him..." Wheeljack trailed off. He knew he had only been allowed to hold onto Blitz thus far because he was a last ditch guardian – under official proceedings set by the Council, which was still trying to hold onto their old ways, he would never pass. Not only did they refuse to allow wards of the state to be adopted to unbonded mechs or femmes, but with his explosion rate, they would never deem him a fit caretaker.

"It would be for the best if he went," Prime said softly. Wheeljack nodded. He knew this, but that didn't make things any easier.

At that moment the twins came running into the room, toting Bluestreak and Blitz behind them. "Red, Red! There was this weird femme and she was scaring Blitz and-"

"Twins!" their brother chastised. "You know you aren't supposed to interrupt meetings. At least greet our company properly."

Sideswipe looked to Elita and smiled, giving her a brief "hello" while Sunstreaker just nodded sharply, a scowl affixed to his faceplates.

"So this is him?" Elita-One approached the group, spying a black seekerlet hiding behind the red twin. She knelt in front of the younglings and smiled kindly. "It's okay, you can come out."

The sparkling's green optics widened and a terrified look crossed his faceplates. Spotting Wheeljack he made a run for the inventor, falling on his faceplates only once before getting up and attaching himself to his caretaker's leg.

"Aw, Blitz," Wheeljack sighed. How was he going to explain this to the sparkling? He had tried bringing the subject up once before, but Blitz would only then point at his picture of the last time he had seen his creators, which he insisted on sleeping with. Wheeljack had wanted to give him a real image capture of them, but they were all from battles where the trine were making not-so-kind faces which he knew they wouldn't want their creation to see, not if they had sent him away for his safety.

The seekerlet lifted his arms, wishing to be lifted up. Wheeljack started to stoop, but froze when Optimus shook his helm slowly. It would be better to start distancing himself from the sparkling now.

Blitz pouted when his caretaker refused to pick him up. He began clicking angrily and making a fuss before Bluestreak came over and hugged him, whirring back at him comfortingly.

That just made the adults in the room feel worse about what they were going to do.

"Blitz," Optimus Prime began. The seekerlet's helm flew up, almost knocking into Bluestreak's as he stared at the Prime, who almost never addressed him, mainly because Blitz was usually terrified of him.

"This is Elita-One." He gestured to the femme, who was still on one knee. "She and her femmes are another group of Autobots. They take in neutrals and orphans and protect them from the Decepticons." Blitz shuddered at the word. Even if he didn't understand all, or even most of what was being said, he knew what that word meant.

"Elita and the femmes are going to take you with them, for your safety. There will be a lot of other younglings to play with, and I'm sure we can find you a nice pair of adoptive-creators-"

"What?" roared, in tandem, the twins. Blitz jolted at the sudden sound. Seeing the furious looks on the twins' faceplates, coupled with their angered voices, caused his lower lip component to tremble. What had he done wrong?

"You can't just send him off like that!" Sunstreaker fumed. "He's fine here! He doesn't need to go with them!"

"Sunstreaker!" Red Alert glared at his brother, but was ignored.

Sideswipe was nodding in agreement with his brother. "Yeah, he's got friends here! He's fine!"

_Twins!_ Red Alert called harshly across their bond. _Stop this instant!_

Sunstreaker was all but growling. _They can't just take him!_

Red ignored him. _Shush or they'll take you too!_

The twins froze, anger temporarily forgotten. _What?_

_See that orange mech in the corner? He's a liaison to the Council who travels with the femmes. I'm on watch with them already, the last thing I need is you two confirming that I'm an unfit guardian by completely ignoring everything I say._

_What? _The twins were dumbfounded.

_How are you unfit? _Sideswipe asked.

_The Council is very picky about who they let adopt younglings, and for all intents and purposes, I had to adopt you two to keep you with me after our creators deactivated. They didn't want to let me adopt you because of my glitch, but I just passed their little tests because I had a right to adopt you as your brother. They didn't even want to let me use that, but our creators left a request that I be able to take you two should anything happen to them. But the Council is just _waiting_ for a slip-up that "proves" I'm unfit as your guardian so they can take you away. They want to take you with the femmes as well, but I was able to stop them, for now at least._

_B-but... What about Blitz?_

_I'm having a hard enough time getting them to let you two stay – I'm sorry but we can't do anything for Blitz. I promise you, the femmes are a safe group. I'll ask Firestar to look after Blitz especially, at least until he gets adopted._

_But Wheeljack is his caretaker! _Sideswipe exclaimed.

_Caretaker, not guardian. He can't adopt Blitz – unbonded mechs and femmes aren't allowed, because the Council thinks that it would be an unhealthy environment for the sparkling._

_But Wheeljack's great with him._

_Doesn't matter, he can't adopt without a bondmate. Do you two understand now why it might be best to hold your glossas?_

He received two grudging replies. _Yes._

_But I still don't like it,_ Sunstreaker added.

_I didn't say you had to like it, I just said you had to shut up. Now apologize for your outbursts._

"Sorry," the twins muttered aloud with downcast optics – downcast so the others couldn't see the anger that swirled in them. The rest of the Autobots correctly assumed that the brothers had held a silent conversation over their bond, and were fine leaving things at that.

Blitz's small faceplates were scrunched up in confusion and beads of cleaning fluid were gathering at the rims of his optics, just waiting to start streaming down. He didn't understand most of what was being said, but he knew that he was being sent away. Again. For safety.

That was what creators had said, and he never saw them again. Who was to say the same thing wasn't happening now? He was being sent away again because nobody wanted him, and he would never again see 'Jack or Sunny and Sides or Blue or Jazzy or Prowl or 'Hide or Ratchet or even Optimus-

Now the sparkling was outright bawling, drawing disgruntled looks from the others in the room. Bluestreak was valiantly trying to calm his friend who was clinging to him like he never intended to let go. Though only Wheeljack's optics could be seen, he looked like he was on the verge of tears, too. It was killing him that he couldn't comfort the sparkling he had come to love as his own.

Elita again reached out a servo to the sparkling. "You can come here; I won't hurt you." With tearful optics Blitz checked the expressions of the others in the room to be sure that the femme could be trusted. The twins nodded in what they hoped was an encouraging manner, trying to make things easier for the sparkling. Wheeljack smiled sadly behind his mask as he did the same. He had known that this orn would come, but he had never expected it to be so hard.

With shaky pedes the sparkling moved towards Elita, stopping to inspect her servo at a farther distance than he had that scary femme earlier. But the sheer color of the femme interested him and drew him closer to her. He had never seen this shade before, except for in energon. With a small, wary servo, he reached out and touched her arm, half expecting it to be covered in energon itself. He was surprised to find that it was actually the color of her paint, and his confusion showed on his faceplates.

The leader of the femmes chuckled, and carefully brought the sparkling to her chassis so she could pick him up. Blitz was a little surprised at the motion, but the soothing strokes to his back plating made him purr contentedly, optic shutters slipping down as recharge called. Resting his helm against her chest plating, he continued lethargically patting experimentally at Elita's chassis, waiting for it to suddenly liquefy while he sniffled softly.

Optimus quietly informed the group that it might be best for the femmes to leave now, while Blitz was tired and not paying much attention. Elita held the sparkling in her arms while the others came forward to say their goodbyes. Wheeljack petted the sparkling's wing-nubs and stroked his helm lovingly, and the twins whispered goodbye to their little friend with morose optics. Prowl held Bluestreak up to Blitz's level, and the young Praxian chirred at his friend happily, not understanding what was happening, not that anyone expected him to.

With a few more farewells, the femmes were off. Optimus pressed one last kiss to Elita-One's helm before she left, careful not to disturb the recharging sparkling resting in her arms.

And with a few last glances, the femmes – and Blitz – were gone.

Little did anyone know, but that was the last the _Ark _would see of little Blitz for quite some time.

* * *

**I think I'm going to end here, and I'll continue the flashback next chapter. I've still got a lot to explain, after all! Thanks for reading, and please review!**


	19. Welcome to the Family

**I'm proud of how this chapter came out; it's very angsty, if I do say so myself. I can't think of much to say here (lots at the bottom, though), so...enjoy! And sorry for any missed line breaks, there's a lot here.**

_**Starfire201**_**: Mm, quite true. I'm not sure if I want to bring the femmes back yet - considering I kind of hate them and all - but I might, just to have angry-mech fun-time. ;D But yes, had anyone paid more attention, none of this would have happened. But that wouldn't be as fun for a sadistic bastard like me, now would it? XD**

_**ToaKage**_**: Thanks, I do try for adorable-ness. Scared for Blitz? Well, things get a bit creepy for him...though in this chapter, they're worse for others...**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Transformers or any of its characters; I do own the gestalt and anyone/thing you don't know. The lyrics to "Welcome to the Family" belong to Avenged Sevenfold (a song that really reminds me of Crash).**

* * *

"_**Hey (hey kid)  
I have to question  
What's with the violent aggression?  
Details blurry, lost him too early  
Welcome to the family**_

**_Hey, why won't you listen?_**  
**_Can't help the people you're missing_**  
**_It's been done, a casualty re-run_**  
**_Welcome to the family"_**

___~ "Welcome to the Family" – Avenged Sevenfold__  
_

The silver sparkling crept down the corridor, proud of himself for deceiving his caretakers thus far. He knew there were some energon goodies hidden in a storage room around here _somewhere_, and if he could just find where that was, exactly, he would finally have the treats all to himself.

"Gotcha!" Two silver servos descended and snatched up the sparkling, careful of its doorwings, brought it to a light-green chassis, and set to work tickling his abdomen. He couldn't resist giggling and squirming with glee.

"'Racer! Noooo!" he moaned between giggles as he tried in vain to swat away the incoming appendages. Moonracer simply smiled at her charge and continued for another klik before allowing the sparkling to calm.

Once he had quieted down, she asked, "And what have you been up to, hmm?"

The mechlet looked away guiltily. "Nothin'," he dragged out in a sing-song voice, a tell-tale sound that proved his guilt.

"Oh really? Because that doesn't sound like a sparkling who isn't doing anything. In fact, I think it sounds like a sparkling who's trying to steal energon goodies. But I know there aren't any sparklings like _that_ around here, right?"

He shook his helm rapidly, blue optics wide.

"Exactly what I thought. So, are you gonna be nice for the good mechs and femmes at the new base?"

The sparkling made a face. "Don' wanna go."

Moonracer smiled brightly at him. "Oh, c'mon, you'll be fine! I hear they're real nice over there." Still her charge wasn't convinced. Time to pull out the big guns. She leaned forward and whispered secretively in his audio, "You know, I heard there will be other sparklings there to play with."

That perked him right up. Other sparklings? He barely ever had other sparklings to play with, and even then they were usually transferred to another base soon, considering that this base was only a stopping point for neutrals and refugees, not a home. Only he had remained, for reasons he couldn't fathom. All he could think about when the subject came up were the colors black and white.

Weird.

"Promise I'll be okay?" he asked his caretaker, staring up at her with large, pleading optics.

Moonracer simply smiled at him, already feeling her spark ache for the soon-to-be absence of one of her favorite charges.

"Of course you will. Nothing will go wrong, Crash."

* * *

The tiny sparkling wasn't sure what was happening. All he knew was that his creators were taking him somewhere new, and he wasn't so sure that he liked that idea. Then again, he didn't like a lot of things. Things were scary.

In fact, everything was scary. The sky was scary, Cybertron's moons were scary, the ground was scary, every mech and femme he met was scary, even his creators were scary! That wasn't an exaggeration – not that the others were either, because he had nice, _logical_ reasons to be terrified of the world around him – but his creators were pretty scary. Then again, anyone who hated you could be classified as "scary."

Slysight didn't know why his creators hated him. As far as he could figure he had never done anything wrong, but something about his odd, _completely rational_ fears made his creators despise him. Well, maybe they didn't _hate_ him, but they certainly didn't care for him as creators should, at least not in his humble opinion. Especially lately; they had been rather mean and stand-offish lately.

His creators made a sharp turn into an alley; Sly jolted in his carrier's arms, looking at her nervously – well, more so than usual. He already felt unsafe, an alley just made it worse! It didn't help that his carrier was holding him out in her arms, away from her chassis. Usually she at least held him to her, even if she was a little harsh about things at times. But now, she was acting like she didn't even want to look at him.

A figure melted out of the inky blackness of the alley, illuminated by a single, flickering light above the back-entrance of a particularly sleazy nightclub. The person was short and a ground-frame, and was unnaturally slim. Sly wondered if it was missing any of its internal components, and then began to fret over the possibility of it being a corpse that had dragged itself from the Pit to come get him. It didn't really help that the mech was a dull-grey color (Sly liked to ignore that he, too, was predominantly grey) and his mother was holding him out to the _thing_ like a parcel to be passed off to another.

Like she didn't want him.

Let it be known that Slysight had always entertained the possibility of being rejected by his creators; even as a simple spark still developing, he had wondered on the notion that he couldn't even understand and had feared and expected it. But expecting it happening didn't make the actual act any easier on him.

Slysight thrashed and whined and made a general nuisance of himself, anything to distract his carrier from handing him over to that _thing_, that spindly, sickly-looking smugly-grinning _thing._

His carrier, however, refused to even look at him. Slysight didn't understand at the time that it was out of shame – she really couldn't stand the idea that she was handing over her littlest creation to a stranger who "promised" to take good care of him. Yet she had to stand the idea, because she was doing it now and would need to live with this for the rest of her life.

It wasn't that she and her bondmate were of mal intent – they had done the best they could to raise Slysight properly. But it had quickly become apparent after his onlining that he had a glitch, a very serious and untreatable one that soon made all of their lives a hectic slag heap. They had three older sparklings to take care of and, while they had modest pay from their jobs, they couldn't afford to look after four sparklings as well as themselves while also continuing the extensive costs of Slysight's medical trips.

And it wasn't like Slysight made things easy for them.

The sparkling was, if anything, a hypochondriac and obsessive compulsive, and that was being kind. Everything terrified him, even, sadly, themselves. He was afraid of everything and everyone and the many medics and experts they had spoken with said that there was absolutely nothing they could do about it but give him some sedatives and deal with his condition.

Yet they couldn't deal with it, not anymore. Slysight was more than a handful or a hellion, he was needy and desperate for attention but barely tolerated touch of any kind, he was afraid when he was left alone and afraid when with others, he threw tantrums frequently when things weren't _just so_ and he often became so scared that he would have violent outbursts when trying to "protect" himself. They just couldn't deal with him anymore. They didn't have the time, or the credits to handle Slysight, and when this mech had approached them, it had seemed a blessing from Primus.

The mech worked with a group that was interested in experimenting with glitched mechs to better their lives and possibly come up with more treatments for them. They knew about the couple's despair and wanted Slysight to participate in a trial for them. Not only would they be paid handsomely, but Slysight would be raised in the best of facilities with doctors and psychologists constantly on call to look after him. His creators would have to sign over their rights to him, sadly, but in the end their littlest sparkling would be given a much better life than anything they could ever have given him. It was all they could have ever hoped for when it came to their tiny, futureless sparkling.

But nobody had told Slysight about any of this, and even if they tried to he wouldn't comprehend what they were trying to say. So he struggled and cried, and even held out his arms imploringly towards his mother for the first time in his life; it broke her spark to keep her optics averted and her sparkling offered up to the odd entity before her.

"It's for the best, sweetspark," whispered her bondmate. She nodded, but the thought didn't make it any easier when she placed her wailing sparkling in the arms of the mech.

That's what she continued to tell herself as she and her bondmate left the alley and returned home to their three un-glitched sparklings: _It's for the best._

Oh, how wrong she was. Then again, in the end, maybe she was right.

* * *

Blitz didn't like his new base. Simple as that, really. Or not, considering that he had no way of getting out of the hated situation.

Something weird was going on here, that much even the sparkling could perceive. The femmes he hadn't minded too much, once he was used to them, but then the first femme he had met, the one who had scared him, had suggested taking him to another base when the Decepticons had struck their current location. She had said that he would be safer elsewhere, farther from the threat of the Decepticons.

The thing was, at one point during the attack, Blitz had felt safer than he had in a long time. He had been afraid and was hiding under Elita's desk when a sudden calming feeling had washed over him, soothing his frazzled circuits and promising him safety. Little did he realize the reaction he had experienced due to his creators' close proximity, and nor did they realize that their creation was about.

After the ambush the weird femme had "suggested" he be moved to a new, safer location, and to his shock and horror the femmes agreed. Suddenly Blitz found himself dumped in a new place with even weirder mechs and femmes who were staring at him like he was an energon goodie and they wanted to eat him.

"What do you think he is?" asked one of them, a dull grey, sickly mech.

"It's underlying – it could be anything," said another, a tall yellow femme with doorwings.

"Not anything." This mech was severe in speech, posture, and countenance. A dark blue, almost black mech, he had harsh, unemotional optics with a calculating feel to them. "If you bothered observing the subject properly, you would understand that he is obviously for the most part indifferent to his situation, which any educated Cybertronian would guess was a definite Liaron."

The femme reared back in shock. "Liaron? Pit, do you think it'll get along with an Orialis? Those ones are famous for being overly energetic, and I can already tell you that the one we've got is annoying as the Pit."

The leader of the group, the harsh one, scoffed. "We wouldn't know – nobody has ever put a Liaron and an Orialis together before. Frankly, though, I don't care. It's the Srallion that interests me. Those ones are tough to find – other than that Autobot security officer, there hasn't been another documented in thousands of vorns. Think of the information we can receive just from monitoring it!"

"I just care about the end result," grumbled the spindly grey mech. "None of this matters if it doesn't work."

The other mech smiled cruelly. "Then we'll just have to find out if it works, won't we?"

* * *

There was an odd thing in Blitz's head. He knew there was, because he was feeling strange things. Or rather, he wasn't feeling much at all.

Blitz wasn't sure what had happened, but after the femmes had left him here, he had stopped feeling much of anything. He had been a little nervous upon his arrival, but then the weird new mechs had injected him with something (and he had wailed like the Unmaker was after him) and he started finding that nothing fazed him. He didn't care that the mean new mechs and femmes were standing in front of him, staring at him with that same clinical, eager expression. He didn't care that he didn't know where he was, or if he was safe, or even if his creators or friends would ever come back for him.

Maybe that was for the best. After all, if he didn't care, then it couldn't hurt anymore, right?

"The chemical seems to be doing its job," one of the observing Cybertronians stated; Blitz couldn't be bothered to see who it was, or to even note if it was a mech or femme.

"Yes, but it won't last forever; its effects are temporary. Soon it will ware off, and the glitch will simply fade to the background once again. We need to come up with a long-term solution – we can't simply rely on the serum forever."

"Then we will need to force the glitch to surface more often." This voice was quite cruel and usually would have terrified Blitz, but at the moment he just kept staring at the wall in front of him with half-shuttered optics, as he had been for a few breems now. It wasn't that it was interesting, it was just the only thing that had been in front of him when he'd sat down.

"Put him in with the others," the same voice said. Blitz felt a tiny part of his spark perk up with natural sparkling curiosity, but it was smacked down by some strange coding in his processor that he had never noticed before. What was that?

The more he became interested in the new code, the more he tried to focus on it, the more it attacked him, trying to force him back to his same state of dullness. He cried out – and thus faced even more backlash from the coding – finally attracting the attention of the gathered group.

"What's happening?"

"The subject probably noticed the coding of the Liaron for the first time and tried to focus on it. Of course, because a Liaron is meant to make its bearer uncaring, the coding will backlash when focused on. Stupid sparkling probably keeps trying to look at it and it keeps attacking him."

"Well what do we do?"

"I would suggest leaving the subject to learn its own lesson; however, considering that it will probably just run itself into stasis lock with its stupidity, that wouldn't be best at the moment. In the current case, sedate it and shove it in with the others. I'd like to see how their different conditions cause them to interact."

Blitz felt a prick to the back of his neck column and soon felt the world around him disappearing. And as he gave into the new coding's wishes, he no longer cared.

* * *

Light green optics onlined to soft blue optics peering into them, set in dark silver faceplates. Blitz jerked upward, smacking his helm with the other's. The other being yelped in pain and staggered backward, slumping against a wall that was much to close for Blitz's comfort. In fact, all of these walls were much too close for his comfort. Where the slag was he? And if the other mechlet (as he had discovered it to be) was rubbing its helm across from him, then who was touching his winglets?

The mechlet he had struck was wobbling to his pedes. Blitz quailed at the sight, noticing that the other sparkling was older than him and much, much larger; that was all he could tell due to how dark the small cell, as he had deduced it to be, was. He looked at Blitz with those same concerned blue optics and squeaked inquisitively.

Blitz paused, still trying to ignore the sensation of someone touching his winglets, and wondered why the sparkling, who had to be at least Bluestreak's age, wasn't speaking to him.

"He don't talk."

The seekerlet spun around, knocking his helm against the large mechlet's legs and sending him back into the wall, while Blitz himself fell across the other's abdomen, landing painfully on his left winglet. He screeched in pain and scrambled to sit up while at the same time trying to move away from the source of the new voice.

Another shape sat against the wall where Blitz had been; it must have been sitting behind him, and what had been touching his winglets. It was another mechlet, from what Blitz could see from its outline, taller than himself but shorter and skinnier than the large sparkling. Some sort of wing-like protrusions (nothing as good as his winglets, he told himself primly) came from the mechlet's back, and in a jolt of hope Blitz asked, "Blue?"

"Who?" came the response. Blitz deflated; that voice wasn't Blue's. Blue's voice was softer, and nicer and quicker. This mech's had a weird tone to it. He almost sounded like 'Hide, the way he spoke.

Blitz shook his helm at the set of blue optics coming from the second figure, though he wasn't sure if it could be seen.

"Who're ya?" asked the newest mech.

He said in a quiet tone, "Blitz."

The other nodded, as if filing this information away. "'M Crash. Like yer wings."

Blitz nodded again; of course he would like Blitz's wings, Seeker wings were the best kind there were! Much better than those ones that this Crash had. Still, he felt the need to be polite, like how 'Jack and 'Hide had been teaching him.

He pointed at the dim outline of the other's doorwings and muttered, "Nice." Blitz wasn't sure how the other had reacted to that, but he was fairly sure that there was a smile on his faceplates.

"Thanks." Crash then pointed at the large mechlet still behind Blitz. Remembering the other's presence, Blitz quickly spun around, fearing an attack from behind. Crash giggled as he said, "That's 'Shade."

'Shade looked at Blitz with inquisitive optics and chirped again. Blitz, though confused at the older sparklings lack of real speech, squeaked in response. 'Shade smiled at him happily, and Blitz felt relieved. Apparently the older sparkling wasn't as mean as he'd expected.

Crash chirruped loudly at the pair and walked the two steps necessary to stand between the pair. He grabbed a servo from each of them, gripped them tightly, and promptly sat down, forcing the two on either side of him to do the same. The cramped cell, which was really more of a cage, Blitz now noticed as he caught sight of a wire-mesh door, could barely fit the group, but that didn't seem to bother Crash at all.

"Friends," the sparkling sighed softly. Blitz looked at him with curious optics while 'Shade just shrugged and grinned to himself – he'd never had friends before.

Suddenly a bright white light flipped on outside of the cage, causing the three sparklings to shutter their optics and clamor for the darker back of the cage, hoping to allow their optics to adjust to the intrusive brightness.

For the first time Blitz could see the room that the tiny cage was held in. It appeared that their cell was high off the ground, enough so that if the trio tried to escape they would be killed by the fall to the floor. The room itself was painted completely white; the ceiling, walls, and floor were white and the furniture, mainly large gleaming medical berths, were all a silver-colored metal, making the harsh lights in the room's ceiling reflect off of every surface, giving the entire place an uncomfortable sterile feel, like everything there was constantly on display.

Which it was.

The seekerlet's olfactory sensors shunned the chemical smells that he realized were wafting through the grate of the cage. He then noticed that the vile, burning smells were being circulated by a ventilation system that had turned on with the lights, as had a series of large machines, each starting up with large grumbling noises, each like a terrifying beast in itself.

Turning to his new "friends" to see their take on the situation, Blitz noticed that 'Shade was black and Crash was silver with bits of black on him. Both were sporting the same confused looks that Blitz himself wore.

The sound of the door whooshing open drew the sparklings' attention. Apparently the room was set to "start up" as a person approached.

A mech sauntered into the room, the one that was dull grey and spindly. Blitz didn't think he cared much for this mech. He cared for him even less when he noticed the figure frozen in the mech's grip.

"Don't know why they always make me do the pick-ups," he grumbled. "And why this thing, eh? Did I not just bring in the Srallion for them? But _no_, they aren't done examining it yet. It's just too fragging _interesting_. So then _I_ have to go out and get this new thing to dump in with the others. What are they thinking, putting a Riorli in with others? Thing's gonna offline itself within the orn, two in the best scenario. But hey, not my problem."

He approached the cage and played with the lock for a moment before wrenching the door open. The sparklings curled together at the back of the cage in fear. They may not have really known one another, but they could recognize a bad situation when they saw it and right now they didn't mind some group solidarity. Even if group solidarity meant huddling in fear together.

The grey mech sneered at the group as he thrust a small pink mass in the cage and slammed the door, reengaging the lock. "Useless scrap," he muttered. "This better work; I've put in way too much time for this to all fall through. Do you know what that means?" He directed this at the sparklings, who were staring at the orange lump and quivering in fear.

"It means," he jeered with cruel optics and a twisted grin that revealed deadly sharp denta. "That you idiots better get real crazy real fast, or I'm gonna be training with moving targets soon." The sparklings didn't know what this meant, but they knew it wasn't good. In silence they watched the mech leave the room.

A few good breems later the trio finally brought themselves to check out their newest addition. The pink mass, which they could only see properly with the ruthless white lights that had been left on, appeared to be a curled and trembling sparkling. The three stared at it for a moment before Crash reached out a digit and poked it.

The sparkling unfurled with a shriek, purple optics wide and frightened as the sparkling scrambled for cover. Finding none, it cried out in fear and moved to hide in a corner of the cage, covering its faceplates with its light pink servos.

'Shade whirred in confusion at the other's reaction. Crash cocked his helm and then smiled brightly.

"Lil' femme!" he called out happily. Blitz frowned; considering his experience with femmes, he didn't much care for them. Then again, Elita had been nice – she let him recharge on top of her desk and had petted his winglets _just_ the right way to make him purr – and she had been pink like this one, too. Maybe the pink ones were the nicest?

But not purple. Definitely not the purple femmes, like the one that had gotten him brought here. The evil one.

The apparent femme wailed fearfully as Crash approached her, standing next to her. "Not scary," Crash assured her. Blitz begged to differ (many of his femme experiences had been quite traumatic, thank you very much, and this situation didn't appear to be much better) but remained silent.

The femmelet still shivered, but she turned her helm once again to face the three mechlets. As soon as she saw their optics she whimpered again and turned away.

Asked Crash with concerned optics, "What's wrong?" Again the femme squeaked in fear, before finally speaking in a shaky voice.

"Don't look."

"Huh?"

"Don't look. Don't like when they look." The femme wailed pitifully at the very idea of being looked at. Blitz, finding that odd not-caring feeling rising, did not focus on a sort of sympathetic or concerned emotional response like his new friends, but instead noticed the femmelet's size and advanced speech pattern. She was older than the rest of them, that was a definite, but she was still younger than the twins.

If Blitz hadn't been having a not-caring episode, he would have been afraid at the fact that he felt no sadness when thinking about some of his closest friends whom he missed dearly.

Crash was still trying to comfort the femme. "Can we talk n' not look?" The silver mechlet stumbled with the mostly understandable statement, but being more talkative than the rest of the mechlets, he was light years ahead of them in the speech department. Blitz usually only spoke with one-word answers and phrases, and it seemed as if 'Shade didn't know how to talk at all.

The femme thought over this request, the process of thinking calming her racing spark slightly, and then nodded. Crash turned around, gesturing for his friends to do the same, and spoke to the wall while the femme turned herself to look at them.

"'M Crash, that's 'Shade, n' that's Blitz." As he spoke he gestured to the others.

"Designation: Rylin," said the other. Blitz noted that her voice was still shaking terribly.

"Rylin," Crash repeated. "'S a pretty name." Rylin was silent. Continued the silver mechlet, "Why don't ya like bein' looked at?"

The femme remained silent for a moment in contemplation. "It...it makes my spark feel strange. Makes it hurt."

"Hurt how?"

Rylin didn't answer; instead she clutched at her chassis over her spark chamber and whimpered. When Crash spun and tried to help her, she keened loudly in terror.

"What's wrong?" he asked. She only shook her helm in pain, optics offlining as she turned her head away.

Blitz wasn't sure what to make of this. Why would she have such problems with them simply looking at her? They weren't even touching her!

Rylin began clawing at the cage's door, desperately and frantically trying to escape from their prison. Her struggles and cries finally drew the attention of those outside of the room, as a series of mechs and femmes entered, many with datapads that they were writing furiously on.

Seeing their captors return, the three mechlets withdrew to the back of the cage. Rylin urgently sought a place to hide, but was too afraid to go near the mechlets in the back of the cage. She could only remain in her place next to the door, in open view of all of the scientists as well as the mechlets.

Her spark couldn't take that idea, of all of these people staring at her. She felt a tear in her spark and cried out in agony.

"Told you this was a bad idea," called out the grey mech who had just dropped Rylin off. "A Riorli can't last with others around, especially not in such small confines. She's probably good as dead by now."

"She's not deactivated yet," said the purple femme that Blitz recognized with terror as Skyflare. "Maybe if we tried the new compound-"

"No, Sprocket is right," declared the dark blue leader of the group. "It was a long-shot that the Riorli would be able to handle being in view of others; it was amazing that it had stayed alive thus far. Remove it from the cage – actually, no, wait until its spark finishes cannibalizing itself before you remove it. I'd like to see how the other subjects react to its deactivation."

The spindly mech, Sprocket, shook his helm. "Never got what was up with Riorlis. I mean, what's supposed to be so bad about having attention on you?"

Skyflare rolled her optics. "Yes, you would have a problem understanding that, wouldn't you? A Riorli's spark cannot process the idea that others are watching it. I shall put it in lay terms for you, as you can't comprehend the actual definition, it seems. A Riorli has an escalated idea of 'wishing they could die' when others stare at them; in a way, it is intense embarrassment that appears whenever others watch it that lead its spark to cannibalize itself so it no longer has to live with the mortification."

Sprocket grumbled, "Sounds pretty stupid if you ask me."

"It's a glitch; there is never anything logical about glitches."

As they spoke, the three mechlets could only stare in shock and horror as Rylin writhed in agony before them. Her soft pink chassis was turning grey at her extremities, and the color was seeping towards her spark. Slowly, painfully, dreadfully slowly, her small chassis lost the last of its pink, and she stopped twitching.

All was silent.

Crash reached out a nervous servo. "Rylin?" Lightly, he touched her forearm, withdrawing his servo swiftly with a gasp.

"She's cold," he uttered, his sparkling mind realizing in newly dawning horror just what this meant.

The three sparklings clutched each other; blindly Blitz gripped the others' servos, happy to have some sort of lifeline, something living, to remind him that he was still here – and that Rylin was most definitely _not_.

"That was quicker than expected," the leader muttered, making notes on a datapad. "Mark the Riorli off the project manifest – after this one, I doubt it will be possible to find another suitable candidate of the same condition, never mind the probability of another not surviving. Remove the corpse and bring in the Srallion. I want to see how the others interact with it. And somebody provoke the Arlios – we will never have success in utilizing its multiple personalities if we never even _see_ them." His subordinates stared at him; the mech scowled. "Move!"

The scientists scurried off to perform their given duties. Sprocket, who it seemed was always doing the dirty work, approached the cage.

"Idiots; perfect waste of a good specimen, it was. If they weren't so desperate for interaction we could have kept it alive for a good four or five orns, six with meds. But _no_, nobody ever listens to the retrieval guy. Dumbaft know-it-all fraggers." He opened the cage once more and removed the still, grey form.

"Such a waste."

Sprocket left the room, and the lights flipped off. All that remained was the antiseptic smell and the gurgling, grumbling machines full of toxic chemicals that these scientists planned to acquaint the sparklings with.

The three shivered. It seemed that their pasts, their families and friends, had abandoned them for this Pit of an existence. Their only constant it seemed was each other and their shared unwavering fear of this place that held them, and the knowledge of one terrifying, horrifying truth.

Rylin was dead, and any one of them could be next.

* * *

**There will be a third "past" chapter, I've decided. After all, Sly hasn't been acquainted with the others yet.**

**Orialis, Riorli, Srallion, Liaron, and Arlios are all names I've made up for glitches. I've decided that on Cybertron all names of glitches are made of these letters: O, A, I, L, S, R, and N. If you can't guess who has what, here's the rundown: Srallion – Slysight and Red Alert (briefly mentioned); Liaron – Blitz; Orialis – Crash; Arlios – Nightshade/Phantom; Riorli – Rylin. If you want to know more about each glitch, feel free to ask me, and if you want to use the name of a glitch or the glitch-naming system, just ask permission first.**

**As for why I killed Rylin – well, she obviously doesn't appear later, and it seems unlikely that MICS found a perfectly fitting group of glitches on their first try. Plus, I came up with the idea of a Riorli and I really wanted to show the horror that some of these glitched 'Bots had to live through, like poor Rylin. Actually, Rylin is the name of a dog at the rescue I work with who I was walking around yesterday; she likes to lick my ears. Go figure.**

**If you're wondering why Nightshade can't actually speak, it's fairly easy – it was referenced last chapter by Skyflare that he was found on the streets. Thus, nobody ever taught him how to talk.**

**I think that's about all I have to say for now. Please review!**


	20. Papercut

**Over 8,000 words and 22 pages in Word – is that acceptable in return for my long absence? I do have an excuse: for a month I shared this computer with five people. Ugh. But things are better now! Yay!**

**Not much to say here. Things are cute, sad, fluffy – we go the full spectrum of emotions this round. Oh, and a prison-break! :D**

_**ToaKage:**_** Hehe...it gets worse. ;) Thanks for reviewing, and I hope this chapter is up to your standards!**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Transformers or any of its characters; I do own the gestalt and anyone/thing you don't know. The lyrics to "Papercut" belong to Linkin Park.**

* * *

"_**Why does it feel like night today?  
Something in here's not right today.  
Why am I so uptight today?  
Paranoia's all I got left  
I don't know what stressed me first  
Or how the pressure was fed  
But I know just what it feels like  
To have a voice in the back of my head"**_

_~ "Papercut" – Linkin Park_

Slysight stared in shocked horror at the three pairs of optics peering back at him through the gloomy darkness of the pathetically tiny cell. He pressed his back plating more tightly against the mesh cage door behind him, as if he could move backwards through it if he only exerted enough force. The mechlet squirmed and let out a keen, screwing up his faceplates and scrabbling with his servos and pedes to move farther back, uncaring that he could go no further and that, if he could, he would fall to his certain death far below the cage's opening.

The optics floated around in the darkness, no faces or bodies attached as far as Slysight's young optics could perceive in the pitch-blackness that was the lab at the end of the orn. The only other light in the room was the blinking red pinprick that showed that the camera right outside the cage was still filming, still _watching_ every little thing he did. There was nowhere for him to hide, and he was terrified more than he could ever remember being in his short life.

Something touched the sparkling's shoulder strut, causing him to shriek in terror. The thing touching him withdrew for a moment before returning, firmer this time.

"S'okay. Ain't gonna hurt ya. Wanna help."

Slysight shook his helm and shrunk away once more, but the weight on his shoulder, that foreign pressure, remained, soon followed by something wrapping around him, the weight moving downward only to have another pressed to his shoulder.

Was he...being hugged?

So surprised and frozen in his stupor, Slysight couldn't even remember that he was supposed to be throwing twelve kinds of a fit right now. Was this stranger, this previously chassis-less stranger, actually _hugging_ him? _Him?_

Nobody ever hugged Slysight. It was like an unwritten rule, so universally followed that it should have been written down somewhere for posterity's sake, but the whole thing was unnecessary because everyone just took one look at him and knew, they _knew_ that he was un-huggable and not worth the effort, because he would reject it in the end. Slysight didn't react well _at all_ to any sort of contact, most particularly of the physical persuasion, and though he loathed admitting it, his aversion to touch didn't stop the hurt that came with the knowledge that nobody would bother to _try_ anymore.

But this mech, this new mech whom he had never met before, who couldn't be too much older than him and who was quite possibly a dangerous enemy, was hugging him the way nobody else had ever attempted before. He pressed Sly against him and rested his helm on Sly's shoulder and he made these little rocking motions and now Slysight found himself crying, pathetically crying into the shoulder of his very-likely enemy. The grey sparkling sobbed and sputtered, burying his faceplates in the mechlet's shoulder strut and gripping him with a surprisingly vice-like hold, servos winding around his back and coming to rest underneath those odd wing-like things that his adjusting optics could barely make out.

The other mechlet held him until his sobs slowly quieted to soft whimpering and mewls. When he began to draw away Slysight, for the first time, gripped him more strongly and made a cry of protest. With a barely visible grin the other mechlet remained, muttering something Slysight didn't even bother to hear to the other floating optics.

A moment later their position was being rearranged. Sly didn't care how, as long as his lifeline, his safety net remained firmly attached. He felt his protector pull away again and keened, but was then placed in the hold of a larger mechlet, who hugged him as well, and Slysight, in his confusion and exhaustion and despair, simply let him. He nestled the side of his faceplate against the chassis he slumped next to, optics drooping shut as fatigue finally won and his systems began to enter recharge. Dimly he saw the mech with the strange wing-things settle beside him with a tired grin, and another mechlet, this one with real wings and almost as tiny as Slysight himself, curled against the other's side, as there was no real other place in the small cage.

Slysight stared at the group for a long moment, for the first time in his short life feeling an obscure sense of ease and...peace, if that was this unnamable sensation he was experiencing for the first time.

With that idea in mind, the tiny sparkling's hectic, traumatic orn finally got to him, and he fell into recharge.

* * *

"Really? That was _it_? How anticlimactic! After all of the hoopla about 'oh, he's a Srallion, they're almost as bad as Riorlis, he just might have a panic attack and go berserk' and _this_ is what I get? Psh, berserk my aft! That was the most pathetic load of slag I've ever seen in my life!"

Skyflare rolled her optics in annoyance. Why, oh _why_ had their commander ordered her to watch last night's footage with _Sprocket_ of all mechs? Anyone, _anyone_ would have been better than this bastard.

"It's science," she said primly, optics narrowed and cold. "One must always expect to have their hypothesis disproven."

"Oh, cut the slag, 'Flare. You know that no matter your 'hypothesis' you thought more than _that_ would happen. For Primus' sake, he screamed and then they had a cuddle-party! You can't tell me that you aren't a little miffed after all of the hype."

"Yes, well this just proves that we, as scientists conducting a study, need to learn not to believe in the so-called 'hype' that our assumptions bring about, and need to rely purely on the data that the experiment provides us with. And, as you know, my designation is Skyflare, not Sky, not 'Flare, and most certainly not 'Purple Wench.'"

"Psh, yeah, 'cause I give a slag what you think 'bout what I call you. For your information, I wouldn't keep calling you Purple Wench if you didn't keep responding. But oh, you do, and your optics are so sexy when you're furious and annoyed-"

"Sprocket, I am kindly asking you to stop making lewd remarks before I hand you over to the bioengineering team. I hear they're looking for a 'playmate' for their latest 'creation.'"

"Oh, Sky, your words cut so deep. You wound me, darling, really."

Skyflare's optics narrowed further into dangerous slits, yet she did not reply. Instead, she fastidiously took notes on all that had occurred in the past night while the scientists had been absent from the facility and prepared her report for the commander. He, unlike the uncouth Sprocket, would not care if their hypothesis had not been fulfilled. In fact, he would probably just remark that compatibility would make their future experiment all the easier.

Their experiment _would_ work, and they _would _get what they wanted. MICS _always_ got what they wanted.

* * *

The sparklings cowered in fear at the back of the cage, away from one of their own as he thrashed and screamed on the largest of the medical berths in the sterile white room.

"Hold it down," called out the leader in a bored tone. "Restraining it aggravates it, and only through aggravation, anger, and fear can we draw it out."

Slysight pressed his faceplates into Crash's shoulder, unable to watch as Nightshade twisted and writhed on the table, blue optics wide and pleading for someone, _anyone_ to help him. A syringe full of green liquid was injected into his neck, causing the black mechlet to snarl and lash out, swiping at the servo and failing to hit its mark. He growled in agony as the liquid entered his system, burning and searing his circuits as it traveled.

Blitz sat away from the others in the cage, against the opposite wall with his knees drawn to his chassis and his arms tucked neatly around them. His optics never once strayed from his tormented friend. A twinge of sympathy tickled his processors, for he knew how much the green stuff hurt – _they_ liked to use it on him when he started caring too much.

As if on command that angry, scary piece of coding rose up and lashed out at the sympathy, sending it skittering to the safety of a dark, secret area deep in Blitz's spark, an area he didn't know how to access, and thus a place that the coding couldn't touch.

The elite Seeker trine, safely ensconced away on the _Nemesis_, couldn't understand why a feeling of sad, sympathetic terror swept them, and they brushed it off, automatically blaming Dirge and his slagging _special abilities_.

With a sick sense of fascination Blitz continued to stare at his friend's tormented expression, helm cocking to the side in curiosity, a blank look on his faceplates.

The commander walked by the cage and peered in, smirking in satisfaction at what he saw. "Note that the Liaron is brought out by the pain of the other's, most likely as a defense mechanism. This could be useful for us later."

Quickly, a lab assistant marked this down on a datapad, while three others did the same, just to be safe that the commander's precious data was recorded.

Nightshade sobbed loudly, gasping for breath while streams of nonsense-syllables flowed from his vocalizer, blue optics shifting back and forth yet unseeing.

And suddenly...a flicker of red. Just the tiniest, teensiest little spark, curling in the corner of a cerulean optic and flashing away in the same instance, yet it was caught by the commander's calculating gaze.

A satisfied smirk curled across his gaunt faceplates.

"Another injection of the serum, please. It seems our dear Arlios is finally coming out to play."

Nightshade saw the injection coming and began shrieking in fear and protest. "No, no, no, no nonononononono_no_!" he screamed, his cries falling on deaf audios as another injection was forcefully plunged into the sensitive tubing of his neck, pushing more of the vile, fiery green liquid into his young body.

The mechlet cried out in pain, his chassis rocked with tremors and sobs, spark pulsing insanely quickly and wishing to be anywhere, _anywhere_ but here. But where could it go? It couldn't leave, it was too small, too young, nowhere to go...

The commander watched as things continued as they had before, the subject shrieking like some pit-spawn of Unicron yet not showing anymore signs of the Arlios rising. A new tactic was needed.

He saw the blue – ugh, still blue it seemed – optics of the patient resting on the terrified subjects in the cage behind him. Turning, the commander saw the Srallion and the Orialis in the same states of fear that they had been before, and the Liaron watching with disinterested green optics. Glancing back at the subject, he noted that his gaze was fixed, with a little bemusement, on the Liaron.

Ah. This should do nicely.

Inputting the key-codes and opening the cage's door, the commander reached in and pulled out the Liaron by its scruff-bar. The seekerlet stared at him indifferently, green optics dull with boredom.

Well, he'd just have to see if he could liven them up a little. Maybe the Arlios responded to the pain of its host's "friends" as well as that of its host.

With that idea in mind, the commander held the Liaron in plain view of the Arlios, and then, still holding onto its scruff-bar, swung it against a nearby wall. The seekerlet slammed into it with a satisfying clang, causing multiple scientists to flinch and jarring the Liaron from its inner-musings.

The seekerlet chirped, anxious, confused and in pain, and wasn't at all prepared for the servo that backhanded it. Having nowhere to move in the commander's grip, the small body was forced to take the full force of the blow.

Nightshade watched in horror. This was his fault. They were hurting little Blitz because of him. Why else would they start hurting him when he hadn't been doing anything wrong? He had been just sitting there with that odd look he got sometimes, that glazed, dull look like he was in his own little world, and the evil mech had just started hurting him! He had to help him, he _had_ to help his little friend, one of his only friends, his _brother_...

But how? He couldn't help anyone. He was small, and weak, and stupid and scared and his friends got hurt because of him. This was all his fault. It was all his fault, and he couldn't do anything but watch his friend get hurt. He couldn't help Blitz...

_...But I can..._

_Who?_ Nightshade looked around, trying to find who had spoken, and was lost. Who was this, who wanted to help?

_Me. I can help._

_But who are you?_

_I'm you._

_No, no, I can't help._

_But _I _can._

_But you're me!_

_Exactly._

Exactly? How so? How could this Nightshade-but-not help when Nightshade couldn't?

His vision blurred, fraying on the edges as a dark abyss unraveled the sight thread by thread.

_Just relax and let me handle this. I'll show them not to mess with our family._

_Our family? Ours?_

_Of course. Ours, as we are a _we_. There is an us. There has always been an us, and there always will be. I am you and you are me and we are us, and nobody shall ever change that. Nobody will ever separate us, and they will never hurt you again. I will be sure of it._

_But how? How can we-?_

_Shush. Let me handle this. I shall take care of us._

_Us? But, but I don't remember being an us. I don't remember you being here..._

_...You don't? Are you sure?_

He paused, letting the words of this voice, so like his own with an odd, rough accent, seep into his processors. He had been alone, or so he had thought. He didn't remember this voice, and yet he did...

Of course. There had always been an us, a we. The voice had always been there. They were just so similar that he had thought it was himself. They were, after all, one and the same.

_I remember us. I don't know how I could have forgotten. We are us, and we shall take care of our family._

_Yes, _we_ shall. Nobody shall hurt us again._

Violet-red bled into blue optics, the red swirling around the blue and covering it, blanketing is safely away and hiding it from view; the red would be the protector now.

The commander chuckled darkly. "Ah, protecting its little 'friend,' I see? How _sweet_," he sneered derisively, upper lip curling in unhidden disgust. His optics sparkled with a cruel delight at the furious and fearless expression in the subject's now-red optics.

With a snarl this new Nightshade lashed out, wrenching his arms from the grip of the lab assistants and swinging wildly, catching one's optic and shattering it. The particular assistant cursed and brought a servo over the broken optic, trying to staunch the steady flow of energon. His colleagues all backed off from the swinging mechlet, too cowardly to risk being next now that the subject was actually fighting back.

Nightshade felt like he was watching from the background as this other him, controlling his body, snarled at the evil mech who still held Blitz in his grip. The evil mech sneered back, and swatted at the mechlet, sending him flying across the medical berth. No matter how tough he liked to think he was, he was still a sparkling.

The commander stalked over to the Arlios, ignoring the now-trembling Liaron in his grasp – it seemed it was having fights with its coding again do to its behavior – and coming to loom over the Arlios.

"Come out to play, I see? Hmm, just as well, I've been trying to draw you out long enough. Hopefully next time we won't need as much of the serum. I'd like to have my subjects nicely trained to exhibit their conditions upon my command, and I intend for this to happen."

Not-Nightshade growled lowly, snapping and clawing at the servo that reached down and plucked him up by his scruff-bar. He continued struggling, even as the evil mech took him back to the cage, opened the door with an all-too calm and pleased look, and flung him in it, closely followed by Blitz, who still looked confused and only now a little nervous, despite the dents on his plating and the way his left optic kept twitching and flickering.

The commander turned to his subordinates. "Set up the camera. I want to see how the others react, now that the Arlios has been provoked, and I don't want anyone's presence hindering their responses in any way."

The scientists and assistants scuttled away to do his bidding. One brave spark asked, "Sir? About the subjects' injuries...?"

The mech scoffed loudly. "Leave them. It's nothing their self-repairs can't fix up. Besides, they need to get used to this. They'll never learn without corporal punishment."

He swept out of the room, his faithful suck-ups following devotedly behind him. The assistants, jotting down their last notes, quickly set up the camera and departed from the room.

Finally, _finally_, all was blissfully silent, save for the rasping, gurgling machines that created the disgusting, horrible green solution, and for the cries and whimpers of the sparklings.

As soon as Blitz had been tossed in the cage, Crash's servo had crept out and snatched his arm, pulling him until he was nestled against the doorwinger's left, while Slysight was snuggled against his right, still whimpering softly in fear.

Crash clicked worriedly at Blitz, whose gaze kept turning dim and then bright, like it did when he zoned out. The seekerlet chirped quietly and sent a glance at this new, red optic-ed Nightshade. Remembering the change in their friend and cellmate, the other two sent nervous looks his way, taking in his new appearance and air and hoping he wouldn't attack them as he had _them._

To their never-ending surprise he crept across the tiny expanse of the cage necessary to reach the trio and scooped them all into an embrace, purring loudly and contentedly.

"Safe," he murmured, nuzzling the side of Slysight's helm. The mechlet, still unused to touch if he wasn't the one to initiate it, even after all of his time in the cage, flinched. He didn't know if this _was_ safe, not with those weird red optics. Red optics were bad...right?

"Who're ya?" Crash whispered, drawing together his courage as the unofficial leader of the group. He noted that this Nightshade, from what he had seen, had an increased vocabulary from the usual one. Or maybe the regular one did, too, and nobody knew because he rarely spoke, despite the words they had been teaching him.

The black mechlet that most certainly _wasn't_ Nightshade, even if it _was_ wearing his faceplates, looked the three directly in the optics and said in that weird, harsh accent, "Vantom."

"Vantom?" Crash repeated incredulously, his own accent laughably skewering the other's pronunciation.

"Vantom," the new Nightshade repeated with a little annoyance.

Crash shook his helm. "Okay, okay, I get it, Vantom."

"No," said the other in exasperation. "_Vantom_."

The doorwinger narrowed his blue optics. "Gettin' nowhere fast, bud," he said. He had heard Chromia use the phrase when she was interviewing one of those red optic-ed mechs before. And then 'Racer had come running and grabbed him and told him he shouldn't be watching the "interviews" anymore.

"Ph-pha..." Blitz began and then trailed off, green optics narrowed in thought and helm cocked to the side. He chewed on his lip components for a moment, and then tried again. "Phantom?"

The newly dubbed Phantom grinned widely and pressed Blitz closer to himself. The seekerlet squeaked cutely with large optics before yawning widely, the strain of the orn and his self-repair systems taking their toll on him.

"Whassat?" asked Crash.

"Ghost," Blitz supplied as he nestled between Phantom, this new alternate Nightshade and Crash. It was cozy here. Why didn't they have cuddle piles back on the _Ark_?

The _Ark_...where had that been? It was...it was...

_"Elita and the femmes are going to take you with them, for your safety."_

_"Blitz! There you are! We've been looking all over for you!"_

"_You know, I think someone had a nightmare."_

_"What's your name?"_

_"Besides, we don't know who his creators are. For all we know, it could be Starscream's trine."_

Starscream's trine...who were they? Why did that name make him feel so funny? Starscream, Starscream...who was Starscream?

_Red, white, and blue...dashing grey faceplates and warm red optics...why are they sad? They shouldn't be sad..._

_"You'll be okay."_

But he wasn't, he really wasn't. This place, it hurt, everything about it hurt. The noises hurt, the sights hurt, the smells hurt, the inhabitants _hurt_, the green stuff hurt, his friends were _being _hurt...all of it, it hurt. No, he wasn't okay at all. Why would they lie to him?

_"...but we promise we'll come get you one orn."_

But they hadn't come and gotten him, and he was hurting. Didn't they love him?

_"We'll stop at nothing to keep you safe."_

But he wasn't safe! Didn't they understand that? He wasn't safe at all! None of them were!

_"And we'll always love you forever."_

But if they loved him, why did they leave? Why couldn't he remember them?

_"Please don't forget us!"_

It was easier to forget, though. Forgetting made it hurt less. The odd coding agreed fervently with him. Why bother remembering the _Ark_, that before-time? All of it hurt to remember, so why bother? Nobody loved him anymore; they'd all forgotten him. The only ones who cared now were his fellow cellmates. Why should he remember anyone else?

Blitz fell into recharge thinking of that, and when he next awoke, now snuggled between Crash and a very confused Nightshade, he wouldn't remember a thing at all of the _Ark_ or what had come before it. In fact, he wouldn't think of or remember any of those subjects until occupants of that very same ship appeared at his base thousands of vorns from now.

But that was okay, as long as it didn't have to hurt anymore.

* * *

The commander paced in his office, idly swirling a cube of high-grade in his servo as he walked. His underlings stood before him, styluses poised at the ready over their datapads as they awaited his orders.

"The subjects are progressing nicely. The Liaron has been making numerous appearances, the Srallion is in an almost constant state of fear or a frenzy of anxiety, the Arlios has been called out multiple times, and to top it all off, the combined states of the other three is wearing down on the Orialis' grip on its control. Added to its already active state, it, too, is as responsive as could be hoped."

He stopped walking and turned to face the group.

"It is time to begin the procedure."

"Sir, are you sure?" This was from Sunblast, a yellow Praxian femme. "The procedure is no thing to dash into."

The commander leveled a glare at her. "I believe we have spent enough time allowing the subjects to 'acclimate,' and their conditions could not be heightened while remaining in our timeframe. We have reached a flat point in our experiment, and it is time to move on to the procedure. Dismissed!"

The group left the room, keeping their doubts or worries to themselves. It was time for the procedure to begin.

* * *

Crash shifted uneasily on the berth he was tied down on. He was scared out of his mind and thought about struggling, but the sheer _uselessness _of the idea made him want to laugh. A lot. And this wasn't really a laughing matter, now was it?

_Oh, c'mon, it's a lil' funny,_ part of him said.

Uh, no, no it really wasn't very funny to be tied down with your friends and cellmates in similar positions and to know that, no matter what happened next, you were in for a lot of pain.

_Doesn't that just make ya wanna laugh, though?_

It _did._ It shouldn't have, but it _did_, and that terrified Crash. Was he crazy? What would the others think, if they knew he was crazy? Would his creators hate him?

Crash didn't know who his creators were. He couldn't remember a thing about them save for blurred swatches of black and white, and a few sound bytes that his lonely sparkling mind had probably created for him.

But Moonracer had told him about his creators, told him how kind and brave they were, and how much they loved him. It was a nice sentiment, he had thought, to have your creators love you. He wasn't sure if it was true of if 'Racer just wanted to make him feel better (and that strange part of his processor assured him that it was the latter, because nobody loved you and left you), but he liked to imagine that his creators, wherever and whoever they were, loved him.

Those sound bytes, those ones his strange mind assured him he had made up, because the idea of someone loving him was so _hilarious_, tried to make him think that they did.

"_Look at him, P-ffzzt."_

The bytes were damaged, incomplete. He could never get names – they always turned into masses of static.

_That's because you're too unimaginative to come up with names for your pretend-creators! Ha!_

Crash ignored his often mean mind and focused on the sound bytes, those comforting sound bytes that made him think that he was cared for and gave him hope. Plus they were a wonderful distraction from the tubes being inserted into his arm, tubes full of that disgusting green liquid.

"_Look at him, P-ffzzt. Ain't he gorgeous?"_

"_Of course he is, J-phhht. He is ours, of course."_

"_Oh, feelin' smug, are we?"_

"_How could I not, seeing our sparkling?"_

_Laughter, happy laughter that made his spark warm._

"_He's got yer smile, babe. Look at that."_

_A digit pressed to his chassis and the sparkling giggled happily._

"_And he has the optics of someone I know."_

"_Oh? How're ya so sure they ain't yers?"_

"_I never look so devious."_

"_Picture of innocence that ya are! Aw, P-zzssh, I've known ya to be pretty crafty in the past."_

"_Ah, but I pull it off without ever looking nearly so guilty...or so scheming."_

"_Aw, c'mon."_

_A pout, one that made the sparkling giggle. The pouting mech smiled and laughed._

"_I could get used to tha' sound, couldn't ya?"_

"_Definitely."_

_A kiss was pressed to the sparkling's helm._

"_A gorgeous lil' sparklin', and he's all ours. Don't get better than this, babe."_

"_No, love, I don't believe it does."_

Well, _obviously_ it did if they didn't care that he wasn't around any longer. Maybe he just got annoying after a while? That what his weird processor told him, and he was highly inclined to believe it. The mechs and femmes here told him he was annoying all the time, after all.

"Operation Psyche, beginning procedure," a scientist recorded as he went to a giant whirring machine that Crash couldn't even begin to describe in the center of the four berths the sparklings were restrained on. He hit some buttons and typed in some things, and suddenly it came to life with many a grunt and moan. And it was _so loud_, louder than any of the machines back in the cage room. Crash could hear Slysight crying on the berth across from him. He wanted to tell him that everything was all right, but it...well, it really wasn't.

Strange, foreign cords had been attached to ports in the back of Crash's neck cables and helm, ports he hadn't even known he'd had. Suddenly connections there sprang to life and lines of pure code flew past his vision, far too fast and complicated for his young processor to begin to understand. He felt his CPU beginning to lock up before a scientist approached him, placed a device to his helm and hit a button. An electrical shock of an extremely unpleasant nature crackled through his helm, causing him to cry out in pain.

"Place on the record," the scientist said in a bored voice. "That the Orialis' suspected history of processor lock-ups has been confirmed, and is believed to be hereditary. It is unknown if the other subjects will inherit this trait post-procedure."

The burning green liquid was singeing his lines, but Crash was too busy quivering in fear to pay much attention to the familiar pain the serum brought him. He could hear Slysight screeching in pain, and Phantom was railing against his restraints, spitting and snarling at everything near him.

Blitz...Blitz had locked up again. He hadn't been spoken at all lately – in fact, he was quieter than a glitch-mouse. _They_ didn't like sounds, and Blitz had taken that to spark after a few particularly violent beatings. He didn't made a sound, no matter what Crash did to make him laugh, no matter how often he hugged him, or poked him, or played with his winglets to annoy him into paying attention.

Winglets.

Crash frowned, and tears formed in his optics.

He used to have winglets. His were doorwings, granted, not wings for flight, but they had been his own winglets, and he had loved them. 'Racer had said that his Papa had wings just like them, and for that reason Crash had loved his winglets all the more. They connected him with his creators, reminded him that somewhere out there, at some point, he _had_ had creators, and he was like one of them in some tiny way.

He had hoped against hope that maybe, one orn, they would see him and see his winglets and recognize him, and then they would take him home and he wouldn't have to keep jumping from base to base, or in his current case, wouldn't have to endure this pain anymore.

But his winglets were gone, and there was no way that his creators would ever recognize him, which was okay, because if they hadn't forgotten about him they certainly didn't want him back anyway. Still, the lack of winglets hurt, and the process of losing them had been the worst thing in his life.

Blitz had stopped talking completely after Crash lost his winglets. He blamed himself for their loss, and had Crash been a more vindictive, spiteful, vengeful spark, he may have agreed. But being that he was Crash, and he could never hold a grudge, not against someone as sad and scared and nice as Blitz was, he held no spite towards the mechlet whom he had dubbed his best friend.

_They_ had taken an interest in experimenting on Blitz separately, saying things about "provoking the Liaron," which usually led to injecting him with strange, new versions of the horrid green stuff. They used the regular liquid on the rest of them, but Blitz was their "special subject," the one who _all_ new serums were tested on.

One time, a new, darker green serum, this one thicker, more viscous than the rest, had been injected into his systems, and Blitz had screamed and shrieked and wailed like the Unmaker himself was upon him. He had experienced such pain and misery that Phantom had appeared, Slysight had thrown one of his fits, and Crash had found himself with tears streaming down his faceplates while he laughed maniacally, hysterically. The worst part was, there was nothing funny to laugh at.

The scientists had started threatening Blitz. They told him to stop complaining, stop screaming, to just _shut up_. But he was in so much pain he was too far gone to hear a word they said, let alone comprehend it and comply with it. _They_ had resorted to...other measures.

A servo had been thrust into the cage, and Crash had been yanked out. He had been dangled above Blitz's helm to gain his attention, and before the sparkling could cry out in fear for his friend, white hot pain had sliced across Crash's back. The mechlet had yowled in pain and terror, only to feel the sensation repeat.

Purple energon had rained on Blitz's faceplates, splattering over them in a speckled pattern that held an almost macabre beauty to it. Crash had stared at if for a small moment, at the absolute shock and horror in his friend's optics, before his own offlined as he fell into stasis due to energon loss. When he next awoke, there were fresh weld lines on his back, his winglets were gone, and Blitz wasn't speaking anymore.

The next time a serum was tested on Blitz, a newer, stronger one, he didn't make a sound. He didn't even cry. And it wasn't because it was painless, and it wasn't because the serum had already brought out his glitch.

Blitz never made another sound again.

Even now, as a pain worse than anything any of them had ever felt began to build in his processor, as an unexplainable pressure built in his spark, Blitz still made not a sound. He wouldn't; never again would he speak.

Bad things happened when he did.

Crash screeched himself when the pain became too much. There was an odd pressure in his spark, and it felt like something had to burst soon.

It did.

In a klik everything the mechlet had ever perceived about the universe shifted, changed, rearranged itself. The hole punctured in his spark threw out a line to some outer area, and as the area righted itself the line snapped taut.

Suddenly there were four other consciousnessess in his helm that were not his own. Four equally shocked, terrified, confused consciousnesses that were startlingly familiar.

_:: Wh-what's going on? ::_

_:: Where are we? ::_

_:: It's...nice. ::_

_:: Whole. ::_

_:: Guys? That you? ::_

_:: I'm here. ::_

_:: Me too. ::_

_:: I like this. ::_

_:: Safe. ::_

_:: Nice. ::_

_:: Never hurt us again. Won't let them. ::_

_:: No, we'll keep us safe. ::_

_:: Yes, us. Better as a whole. ::_

_:: Us. Never been an us before. ::_

_:: Always will be us now. Never alone again. ::_

_:: Us. ::_

_:: Yes, us. ::_

_:: _Whole._ ::_

An electrical shock brought the sparklings back from their foray into each other's sparks.

"Note on the record that the subjects' sparks had to be jumped to keep them from creating a hive mind."

"Noted," called an assistant as they scurried passed.

A tentative voice called out, one that sounded like Slysight. _:: Still there? ::_

_:: Of course, :: _replied a voice in Phantom's trademark accent, who was now laying lax and dazed on the berth to Crash's right. _:: Never alone again. ::_

_:: Like us, ::_ a voice whispered to Phantom, one that was definitely Nightshade's.

"Increased activity in the areas around the bond. The subjects appear to be communicating with each other. Later, more extensive testing will be needed."

_:: ...Tests? ::_ asked a tentative voice that had to be Blitz. The others could have rejoiced in happiness at that one small inquiry.

_:: Be with ya, Blitzy, :: _Crash assured. He was delighted to find that he could _show_ Blitz just how much he was forgiven for the loss of Crash's wings. It made everything so much easier.

_:: Van's right. Never alone again. ::_

* * *

Vorns passed in that facility, long, painful vorns full of tests and constant fear.

Eventually sparklings, now younglings, couldn't be held in the cage any longer. Soon they were placed in their own, separate cells. Things were lonely and often scary for the separated gestalt (as they had been told that they were in fact a gestalt), but they had their bond to connect them. It did, however, make it hard for the group to protect each other from individual testing.

Nightshade, or more specifically Phantom, was listed as dangerous and was sedated through the cell before anyone tried to test him. Slysight would curl in the back of his cell and would then pounce when his fear could rise no more, leading to a fair share of injuries on both his part and those of the scientists.

Blitz...he just sat there and let it happen. No matter how many times he was forgiven, no matter what he was being shipped off to be tested for, Blitz never fought back. He would be sure that he could never be at fault for someone else's pain ever again.

Crash didn't often physically fight back, but would rather just keep speaking to infuriate them. That was when the lies had started.

That same part of his processor that led him to laugh at inopportune moments urged Crash to lie about everything and anything, from major things like his health to silly, obvious lies like the color of his own plating. It started small with innocent white lies to annoy the scientist, but soon escalated to the point where Crash could not tell the truth if he wanted to.

The worst part was, the scientists knew that and didn't even care. All they said was "It's about time," and whenever they questioned him, they would jot down on their little datapads the opposite of whatever his answer was. For some reason, his coding hated that its little tricks were failing, and resorted to a Plan B: when Crash was questioned by someone who always assumed he was lying, he would tell the truth, just so the scientists would write down the opposite of what he was saying. After a while his responses became such a toss-up that nobody could ever be sure what was true and what was false.

Crash didn't at all mind playing tricks on the scientists and he loved getting one up on them, but he hated that he had no say in any of it. His coding made the decision for him, controlled his speech without his consent, leaving him to deal with whatever the aftermath. He didn't get the choice of when to lie; his processor chose without him, and that infuriated him to no end.

It was like being a prisoner to yourself.

The ex-doorwinger slumped in his cell, back against a wall with his legs stretched out, placing his feet flush against the opposite wall. The cells were barely large enough for the younglings to sleep in, and Nightshade had to curl up a bit to fit. Slysight often paced his cell, and he could only take three steps, four tops, in the small space. However, the lovely scientists at MICS thought it was enough, and that was that.

"Security Breach in Sector Four! Security Breach in Sector Four!" Sirens wailed throughout the building, flashing red strobe lights accompanying them. Great, the perfect makings for a processor-ache.

Crash chuckled as Slysight was awoken sharply. _:: Wassat? ::_

_:: 'S nothin', Bro, probably jus' a turbo-rat that got in an' tripped a sensor o' somethin'. Nothin' to bother with. ::_

_:: Security breaches are unusual, though, :: _Nightshade remarked.

_:: Yeah, but I'm sure it ain't nothin' to worry 'bout. ::_

An explosion rocked the building to its foundations, the noise almost deafening the younglings and jostling them in their small confines.

_:: I stand corrected, :: _Crash conceded.

Shouts and steps echoed through the hallways. Crash watched with growing interest as guards raced passed his cell, weapons drawn and at the ready. They began to shout something and were sent flying in the opposite direction by a blow from what had to be a huge mech.

_:: What the slag is that? :: _Sly asked nervously. He was the closest to the sound, and also the most terrified of it. The mech feared even looking out of what he suddenly considered the safety of his cell.

A loud roar was heard, one that was impossibly loud and deep for having come from one mech. A giant purple and green fist slammed down in front of Slysight's cell, and the youngling dove away from the narrow opening, choosing to instead curl up at the back of his cell.

"What the slag?" shouted a guard. "How are we supposed to take out that, that _thing_?"

The deep, gravely voice chuckled menacingly. "You aren't."

Sly's optics clenched shut in fear, and he saw awaiting his own termination. A large cannon was fired right outside his cell, and he flinched at the booming sound and the heat wave that followed it.

The battle outside continued as Slysight prepared himself for his end, and then...silence.

_:: Am I dead yet? :: _he asked his brothers.

_:: Not quite, :: _Phantom replied, still dormant in Nightshade's helm and hating it. _:: Slag these fragging doors! We can't see a thing! ::_

_:: Same here, :: _called out Crash, and Blitz had the same remark. _:: What 'bout ya, Sly? ::_

_:: I'd rather not look. :: _he whispered just as scrabbling noises came from his cell's door. He continued cowering as he heard the sound of a low argument, followed by the energon bars being deactivated and the cell's door being ripped from its place, and then...

A gentle servo touched the curled-up youngling's helm. Slysight flinched, unable and unwilling to stop himself. "Hey, you okay? It's all right, I won't hurt you."

Slysight forced himself to pry open his optics, wincing at the still flashing lights outside the cell before he finally focused on the faceplates in front of him. Gold optics were right in front of his, causing him to let out a small yelp.

"Hey, you're okay," cooed the mech in front of him. Was that a...tail waving behind him? Yes, yes it was.

"Wh-who are you?"

The mech smiled and stood, holding out a servo to him. "I'm Scavenger."

Slysight waited for an explanation. When none came, he repeated, "Who?"

Scavenger's smile wavered. "Scavenger – I'm a Constructicon."

"A what?"

Now his smile was completely gone. "A Constructicon. You know, the main Decepticon gestalt?"

"Decepti-what?"

Scavenger stared at him. "Decepticon? You know, under Lord High Protector Megatron?" Nothing. "We're these guys-" he pointed to a purple insignia on his chassis. "And we're against the Autobots under Optimus Prime?"

Slysight was silent for a long moment. "Come again?"

The mech stared at him helplessly before someone called, "Don't worry Scavy, they're all like that. Not a one of 'em's heard anything about the war."

Another voice chimed, "Yes, I wouldn't be surprised if they had no idea of anything happening outside of this compound. It doesn't seem that our fair friends from MICs are very keen on sharing information with them. They don't even know about their glitches."

As these unknown mechs spoke, Scavenger had helped Slysight to his pedes and was ushering him out of the cramped cell. When he came into the hallway, he saw his friends in similar states surrounded by five other mechs very similar to Scavenger, with golden optics and visors and green and purple plating. This was...a gestalt?

"What's a glitch?" Crash asked, his faceplates a picture of innocence.

The group of mechs – the Constructicons? – stared at him, shock evident in their countenances. One of them said, "You're joking, right?"

"Yep!" he replied cheerily.

The group sighed in relief before Phantom, who had finally made an appearance, said drolly, "That means no."

One of the group frowned. "Then why'd he say yes?"

"Because he meant no." At the looks he received, he explained, "His coding makes him lie and say the opposite of what he means."

The one with the posh and proper way of speaking said, "You mean his glitch?"

"Glitch? That what that is? Okay then, that makes him lie."

"An Orialis..." the mech muttered.

"Those names are glitches? Pit, an' all this time I thought they jus' couldn't remember our names!" cried Crash with a smile. The group looked to Phantom again.

"He's serious this time."

One of them looked at Phantom with interest. "You are the gestalt leader?"

"Say what now?"

He shook his helm. "My designation is Scrapper and I'm the leader of this gestalt, the Constructicons." He gestured at the mechs around him. "All of your sparks are connected, correct?"

"You mean the whole talking-in-our-heads thing?" Slysight asked, speaking up. Scrapper paused, stared at him for a moment, and sighed.

"Yes, that. One of you must be the leader of your group, then."

"We have a leader?"

Again, the mech looked at Slysight with a long-suffering expression. "They really didn't tell you anything, did they?"

"The scientists hate us," he murmured. "And they hurt us when we talk. That's why Blitz doesn't talk anymore."

Blitz sent a meaningful look at Slysight, but remained silent, as usual.

Scrapper shook his helm once again. "Okay, we have a lot to go over. But not now – now we need to get you out of here."

The younglings suddenly found themselves being hustled out of the building. Crash, upon passing one of the labs, ducked in and came out with an armful of datapads and files. "You can explain all this stuff to me," he told the questioning Constructicons, who nodded after a pause. Some of the gestalt ran ahead of the group, the sound of gunshots and shouts echoing with them. The path was always clear of all Cybertronians by the time the younglings were ushered through it.

And abruptly they were outside for the first time in vorns. The sight of the Cybertronian sky, being able to intake fresh air – the group was in awe of it all, as they were shuffled along a distance away from the building.

"Bonecrusher's gonna blow it sky-high," Long Haul explained. "Don't want ya too close for that."

The younglings stared in shock as just that happened, and the whole building came down, collapsing in on itself.

The rest of the night was a blur of explanations and travel. The end of it found the younglings outside a neutral shelter (neutrals of a war they hadn't known existed until a few joors ago), watching the Constructicons depart.

"Take care of yourselves, kids," said Bonecrusher as he turned to leave. "Don't wanna have to come save your afts again."

"You would?" Slysight asked incredulously.

He laughed. "Hey, thought we proved we weren't all bad!"

Scrapper called out, "We need to leave now if we want to get back before Megatron notices our absence."

He received grunts in reply, and with that, the group was gone.

The younglings sat in shock in front of the shelter. In one night they had gone from their torturous but well-known lives with MICs to being whisked away by some, apparently "bad" mechs to a neutral shelter.

And oh yeah, they were in the middle of a war. That was fun.

_:: What do we do now? :: _Blitz asked, speaking for the first time that night.

_:: Do what we always do, :: _Phantom replied. _:: Survive. ::_

* * *

**Sorry I didn't spend more time with the Structies. I would have, but then this thing would have gone on forever (I do love them so). Next chapter will have us back in the present on Earth.**

**So, comments, critiques, things you liked/hated? If you have any suggestions or requests, tell me! I take any and all sorts of requests, within reason, and I'll do a requested fic without anything needed in return. Just give me a prompt!**

**Other than that...review!**


	21. When You're Young

** This is where I _could_ give a bunch of excuses for taking basically a year off from this story, and almost as much from fanfic writing. But I won't, because I'm too lazy to think up excuses and nobody reads these things anyway. I could also go on about this being shorter than my usual fare for this fic, but again, I'm lazy and have been writing this chapter since June. Given how far out of the TF fandom I've gotten, be glad I got it done at all.**

** In other news, thank you so very much to everyone who has bothered me to write this story or inquired about it, and everyone who has favorited/alerted/reviewed while I've been off gallivanting the internet without you. You're all the reasons I kicked my ass back in gear. Also, finally what I consider to be the 20th chapter of this story. I feel accomplished. Watch me pat myself on the back. *pats back***

**_Katla: _Thank _you_ so very much for leaving such a lovely review! That really made me smile.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers or any of its characters; I do own the gestalt and anyone/thing you don't know. The lyrics to "When You're Young" belong to 3 Doors Down.**

* * *

"_**You give what you give cause they make you  
Trapped inside a place that won't take you  
And they want you to be what they make you  
It's already over and done  
When you're young"**_

_~ "When You're Young" – 3 Doors Down_

"For the love of ketchup," Slysight muttered crossly as he turned down a new hallway. He was fairly sure he had already run down this one, but he didn't care as long as he was able to stay away from those infernal twins.

Ever since they had been asked to leave (read: screamed out of) the medbay by Ratchet, the twin terrors had been following him around desperately trying to apologize for lashing out against the gestalt without noticing who they were. They hadn't even hurt Slysight, but considering he was the only one they had access to at the moment they decided they could apologize to him and through some form of transitive property and chain rule apologize to the gestalt without all of that pesky getting-down-on-their-knees-and-properly-begging-forgiveness.

Sly loved groveling as much as the next mech, he really did, but he wasn't feeling in a very chatty mood today, and he would really rather be left alone. But given the fifty different revelations made in the last few hours it seemed nobody would leave him alone, whether for the thought that he "shouldn't be alone after all of this" or that they were all insufferable gossips who couldn't quite seem to comprehend that, no, he really didn't want to explain to them all what the gestalt had been doing since they came to Earth, and he _really_ didn't want to have any conversations with anybody, for that matter. Let alone people who wanted to apologize to him, like the twins.

And that was why he ducked into a Cybertronian-sized closet – really, the humans put those in? – and proceeded to hide under some shelves, next to what looked like, in his humble opinion, industrial-strength window cleaner in a mech-sized container. He wasn't going to even bother asking what they planned to use that for.

"Sly? Sllyyyyyyy? Little buddy?"

Slysight crouched lower beneath the shelves and tried to use everything in him that made him a mech to keep from releasing a petrified and rather embarrassing whimper.

"C'mere Slysight! C'mere boy!"

"He's not a little Earth-puppy slaghead, he's not gonna come to _that_."

"Well how am I supposed to know? He looks all cute and cuddly!"

Ew. No. He was not cute and cuddly, because then they would feel inclined to touch him, and that would be gross. Primus knew where their servos had been.

"Well _obviously_ he's around here somewhere!"

He crouched lower under his shelf as the twins came nearer and nearer to his closet, stopping right outside of it. The voices ceased and Sly curled in on himself more, unsheathing his blade when the door suddenly whooshed open.

"Little buddy?" a voice called carefully. He knew the moment the roving blue optics spotted him in the dark; it made his plating crawl. "Hey there, you, we've been looking all over!"

Slysight brought his blade in front of himself as the twin identified as Sideswipe crept closer while Sunstreaker's imposing figure filled the doorway behind him, preventing escape. Sly was officially _not happy_.

The red twin knelt in front of him, peering at him excitedly. "We wanted to tell you how sorry we are, for everything that happened with Blitz and all – really, really sorry about that. So, how are you? You okay? Sly? Buddy? Sly? Sly? Sly?"

Sunstreaker smacked his brother's helm with a scowl faintly visible in the dark closet. "Repeating yourself isn't going to make things better, you freak!"

"Well how am I supposed to know, maybe he's sick or hurt or something and his blade is out to defend himself!"

"Or maybe you're just being an overbearing trash heap and you're freaking him out."

Finally, it had gotten through to them!

"Nah, I don't think that's it. I think he needs a hug."

Or not.

He stuttered, "N-no. No hugs! I'm good. You can, ah, you can go now. Like, right now. You can leave. I really don't mind. Right now. There's a door behind you. You have my full permission to use it. You know, doors? You go out them. And then I'm alone. And then I don't feel so crowded and unnerved and wanting-to-stab-you. Because you're gone. Out the door."

The twins just stared at him with odd looks on their faces while he rambled, Sunstreaker looking calculating and mildly amused while Sideswipe had this big slag-eating smirk and cheery optics.

"Aw, you're so adorable! No wonder he likes you!" the red twin crowed when his rant finished. Sly didn't consider this outburst a good one, nor an understandable one. "You just look so cuddly!"

He moved forward to cuddle the Special Ops mech when Sunstreaker grabbed him by his scruff bar. "And pointy," he said, gesturing to Slysight's blade that Sideswipe had been about to willingly impale himself on.

Sides turned to his twin with a smile. "Aw, Sunny, you do love me!" he cried while lunging at his brother in a full-body tackle-hug. Sunstreaker let out what he would forever deny was a yelp and fell to the ground, where he then proceeded to pummel his brother for daring to do something so embarrassing in such an extremely public place as a dark closet.

Slysight took this opportunity to sneak out the door. You know, the one used for leaving places.

He chose to ignore the perk of curiosity that had arisen when Sideswipe mentioned a "he" liking him.

* * *

Nightshade came to with a throbbing, aching processor that felt like it had been weighted down with a couple tons of lead. He tried to shake out that feeling, and then realized what a mistake he had made when his CPU whirled and his tanks tried to rebel.

He was distracted from these feelings by a warm weight settled on his abdomen.

Struggling to get his elbows under him to sit up partially, he was met by the sight of hunter green plating resting against the glossy black of his own. He canted his helm in confusion before deciding this was a horrible idea because his head was spinning now and he was stuck dealing with it alone, as Phantom had decided to remain checked-out for the time being.

Great. His helm was killing him, he had to deal with it alone and he still had _no idea_ what or who was laying on him!

Suddenly the weight lifted and a set of groggy blue optics were shuttering at him confusedly.

They stared at him blankly for a moment.

He stared blankly back.

Then he was being tackled in a hug that threw him onto his back.

And then somebody was kissing his faceplates over and over while apologies flowed off their glossa.

And then he purged.

And then he fell offline again.

It wasn't his best moment.

* * *

Crash sat on the edge of a medical berth in the room where Jazz had lain in stasis-lock for so long, swinging his pedes back and forth with what he refused to call anxiety. Nervousness? No. And it definitely wasn't fear. Eagerness? Angst?

Apprehension. Apprehension was a good, solid word for it. Not too afraid, not too excited. Just…waiting disquietly for something to happen. Apprehensively.

Unicron-on-a-stick he was sitting here thinking up appropriate synonyms to classify his emotions and yet had never realized he was Prowl's son? Obviously he hadn't inherited the Datsun's powers of deduction.

"Whatcha thinkin' 'bout?" A slim black digit came out and poked the side of his head.

Crash couldn't help but smile. "Nothin' much. Just tryin' to put everythin' together. A lot to take in and all."

Jazz pushed himself up to sit next to his creation on the berth. He nonchalantly slung an arm around the younger's shoulders. "Not that I wanna overwhelm you more or anythin'," he began while looking Crash seriously in the optics. "You tell me if anything's upsettin' you, got it?"

The field medic nodded slightly and looked back down at his pedes. For the first time in a long time he was actually feeling shy about talking to someone. Him, shy! And with somebody that, he had to keep reminding himself, he had already known for thousands of vorns.

_But never like this_, his processor whispered. _That was before_.

Before the entire game had been changed and it seemed that everyone but him had the new set of rules.

"Hey," the TIC said, squeezing Crash's shoulders to get his attention. "What're ya thinkin' 'bout? Really?"

Crash remained silent for a moment, trying to put his thoughts into an articulate, coherent order.

"It's just…you've always known who I was? Since you first saw me?"

Jazz's helm canted to the side and he nodded.

Crash ducked his helm again and rubbed the back of it nervously. He was starting to dislike his lack of visor; his face felt bare and vulnerable, and while usually he didn't care who saw his emotions he hated that his unease was now so visible.

"So, ah, that means that Prowl knew who I was all along. That I was your sparklin'."

"Yeah, o' course? Why?" Jazz leaned in closer, trying to catch his youngling's optic to see what was bothering him so much.

The medic felt his faceplates heat and he focused more on the arduous task of staring at his servos.

"Ah, ahem. It's just that…I mean, I'm probably bein' silly, but…" He hurried through the next bit, for fear that if he didn't get it all out now he could never bring himself to say it later. "Well, I get that I'm a disappointment to Prowl and I'm okay with that, really, I mean I know I'm a glitch and I'm just generally a freak and nothin' at all like him or the way he'd want his sparklin' to be, so I totally get that he'd rather not associate with me or nothin' 'cause it'd be a bit embarrassin', I mean _really_ it'd just be weird so yeah he's probably got the right idea goin' and if'n he or you or anybody's thinkin' all 'Slag now we gotta deal with this one!' well it's alright 'cause y'all can just, like, ignore me or somethin', whatever yer comfortable with, just go with it an' I'll be just fine with it, so yeah. It's okay. Um….yeah."

Jazz stared at him for a long, pregnant moment, optics unreadable through his visor – and really, how was that fair? – before yanking him in for a crushing hug, holding Crash's head firmly under his chin and rocking them slowly, crooning some long-forgotten Polyhexian lullaby.

"I'm so sorry that we made you think that, darlin'," he murmured in Crash's audio. Crash, for his part, tried to focus on the spark pulsing under his cheek, one that his own responded to so happily, and tried to ignore how awkward and embarrassed he felt.

"It's, ah, I mean, I'm fine. Completely fine, I'm used to stuff like that, ain't nothin' to worry 'bout 'cause s'all good. Yeah….I'm….I mean, I ain't mad at y'all for it or nothin'."

The TIC leaned back, servos still on the youngling's shoulder struts, and angled him so he could see into the other's optics.

"That don't change anythin', I should've – _we_ should've known how that'd make ya feel. We love ya, sweetspark, and I promise you that both me _and_ Prowler want ya as our creation. Nothin'll ever change that, no matter how fragged in the head you may be.

"Besides." He smirked, visor glinting mischievously. "Then we'd be a perfect match, eh?"

Crash laughed despite himself. It felt so good to know that he was wanted by more than just his brothers who _had_ to want him – he _was_ in their heads, after all. It was such an amazing relief though, to have that worry and stress of being unwanted by creators he'd thought had been lost for good – if they had existed to begin with.

But they did exist, and one had just told him to his face that he was indeed wanted and loved, and for that moment, all was right in the world.

And then, a rather odd question.

"Say, where'd ya get that accent anyways? Not that I mind it or anythin', jus' that it's a bit…distinctive is all."

Crash huffed in relief; he'd thought for a moment that things were going to come tumbling down on him. But no, it seemed that at least for now his good luck was sticking around a bit.

"Oh, that. Funny story. 'Kay, there's this femme, right? An' she was teachin' me to speak, way back when, and I guess she kinda had an accent, and I kinda picked up on that accent, and things progressed from there. Her name was Chromia…"

Loud, boisterous laughter met him, and Crash laughed too. It felt good to laugh at something that could actually be considered funny. It made everything seem just a little bit safer, a little bit more okay.

And Jazz was just easily amused. That didn't hurt either.

* * *

Blitz was silent after finishing his story, more than his usual audible silence. His mind felt back on his glitch programming and broadcasted radio silence, the numbing _not-caring_ a soothing sensation after what had been a rather uncomfortable bout of story time.

Besides, his creators were all squawking loudly enough that he didn't need to talk anyway.

_What the slag –_

_- those pit-spawned fraggers –_

_- rip their optics out –_

_I'll fragging –_

_- every last one of them, they won't –_

_- kill them, those slagheads –_

_Who _does_ that, who hurts sparklings that way, hurts anyone –_

_- hunt them down and feed them their own sparks –_

_- don't deserve to live – _

_Where are they, sweetspark? We need to make them pay._

_- cut off their –_

_- break their servos first, then –_

In the midst of that stimulating conversation, Blitz had begun to fall into recharge in his tranquil state of _doesn't-give-a-flying-slag_. Due to this, he almost missed one coherent statement in the bunch, directed at him personally by, surprisingly enough, Skywarp. Then again, nobody could ever accuse the mech of not being able to think clearly when he had revenge on the processor.

_Huh?_ he inquired ever-so-intelligently.

Skywarp placed an encouraging servo on his forearm, stroking the plating lightly.

_Where can we find them?_

Blitz shook his head, barely resisting the glitch-fed urge to roll his optics.

_Defunct. The Constructicons destroyed their main compound when they got us out, and the rest of them got killed by the war or left to get to safety or join a side. They're all gone now._

Starscream snarled, red optics fierce. "Dead" was not acceptable. "Dead" was not an option. "Dead" wasn't even anywhere near the list of choices.

"Dead" meant that someone had messed with their sparkling, broken him so badly, and there wasn't a slagging thing they could do about it.

That was not acceptable. Someone would pay, and they would pay dearly. Starscream just had to find who to lay the blame on first.

And while Skywarp crooned over Blitz some more and Thundercracker shot him inquisitive, searching narrowed-optic looks and thoughts, Starscream came up with a plan.

And he found who he could blame.

Blitz had, after all, been in the care of others before MICS got to him, people who so callously and uncaringly let him fall into the wrong hands. They would do nicely as his sacrificial lamb, as the humans put it.

If he couldn't destroy MICS, he could always destroy the Autobots.

It _was_ his duty as the new Decepticon leader, after all.

* * *

**Don't expect more very soon; I still have to get back into the swing of things for all my other fics, which is difficult as I've been (and still am) away from TF. Hopefully I won't take another year though. ;P**

**Reviews are wonderful!**


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